


A Bullet Through His Heart

by cassiopeia221B



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Three Garridebs Moment, Blood, Coming Out, First Kiss, Guns, Johnlock Fluff, Love Confessions, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Season/Series 03, Sharing a Bed, Sherlock's scars, Threats, Virgin Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-06-20
Packaged: 2018-03-25 06:09:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3799771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cassiopeia221B/pseuds/cassiopeia221B





	1. Chapter 1

Sherlock sulked upon having a glance at his beeping phone. He was in the middle of an experiment, nothing of major importance, but he considered it more than just a nuisance when being disturbed.

Instead on the obnoxious buzzing, that’s been pestering the man for a couple of minutes already, he tried to focus on the stain of liquor he’s been analysing, but the noises were rather difficult to ignore, it was actually impossible to concentrate under such circumstances. Sherlock couldn’t even properly adjust the microscope while his phone was so annoyingly vibrating on the table, peeping every few seconds. Phone Sherlock so recklessly placed in the bosom of ampoules, tubes, pipettes and flasks full of undefinable chemical compounds.

“Someone’s better be dying,“ Sherlock ranted out loud, reaching for the device to figure out who on earth is molesting him in such tiresome manner. He was ready to simply turn it off and forget about it, but he changed his mind the second upon reading the very first message that has been received about ten minutes ago. The text itself wasn’t any engrossing, yet it caught his entire attention and from that moment on his eyes were fixed solely on the screen of his phone.

 _We need to talk -_ MW

That could’ve been only one person. Mary Watson. Sherlock frowned, she took John’s surname so proudly as if she deserved it while she was nothing but unworthy of bearing that name, at least that’s what Sherlock thought of her. He wished for never having to see this person again, he actually yearned for that woman would simply disappear like a ghost, like she never even existed. But unfortunately, the very same woman has been married to his best friend and apparently pretty fretful to have a chat. Sherlock could judge from nothing but the alarming amount of messages she sent him, but it was enough to prove it.

He was gazing at the phone in his hands, his fingers hovering haltingly in the air as he wondered what words to type. Sherlock hasn’t seen Mary for about a month, not since the day the plane he was sitting in turned around and landed back on the ground, the day Sherlock escaped what should’ve been his last flight. Once Sherlock walked down the stairs they exchanged few glances and fake glittering smiles, but then he got into the car along with Mycroft and hasn’t talk to her ever since, for until now at least.

He has learnt several quite interesting, yet disturbing facts on his ride toward The Diogenes Club that day. The whole incident with Moriarty’s face planted over thousands of screens all over London was apparently just Mycroft’s sneaky trick he did in order to bring Sherlock back and save his life. But of course, quid pro quo, he also needed his help, help with getting rid of John’s wife actually, she was as it turned out later on, way more dangerous either of them could ever imagine. Holmes brothers have done even the impossible to learn the whole truth about Mary Morstan and so what they’ve discovered in the end was far too disconcerting. But they needed to hurry if they’ve planned on getting her arrested, Sherlock was sure that sooner or later Mary will find a way of getting out of the mess she’s gotten herself into so many years ago. If she learnt that Sherlock was doing his best to hunt her down she’d attempt to get her name cleared long ago and in that case it would be nearly impossible to take her into custody.

Sherlock knew about each of her intentions so far, but what forced her to act the way she was acting that day, that has been a mystery to him. A one he’d love to solve as soon as possible. After quite a few, long minutes of wavering he decided to answer, he could lose nothing after all and Mary was being rather persistent, she sent another couple of texts while Sherlock’s been hesitating what to do.

_I assume it is not your baby you are so eager chatting about -SH_

Sherlock couldn’t resist quipping a little, he’d probably try to joke around even if his life trembled in the balance, even if he was facing his worst enemy who was about to end his life in the most sorrowful way possible. Mary replied in an instant but she naturally refused to play along.

 _Stop acting like a five years old kid, grow up. I am being serious, this is a matter you should be interested in -_ MW

 _Says who? You have nothing to offer -_ SH

 _That depends on what do you consider valuable -_ MW

 _There’s only one thing I value in my life... I doubt you would ever give up that one though_ -SH

Sherlock felt shivers crawling down his spine once hitting ‘send’. He didn’t intend to out himself in so blatantly obvious way, but he was also sure of that it doesn’t even matter when it comes to Mary, she was smart enough to tell between the truth and deception. And besides, it wasn’t as if Sherlock didn’t wear his heart on his sleeve from certain, rather a crucial point of his life, John maybe, fortunately for Sherlock, didn’t notice, but everyone else around was already aware of what the detective has been trying to hide for so long before.

His phone beeped again, but Sherlock couldn’t bring himself to look at the screen for another couple of minutes. Once he peered back, there were already two unanswered messages.

 _Well, you’re not wrong. But I am fairly convinced you should still consider listening to me -_ MW

 _What is the point if there is nothing in return for me?-_ SH

 _So you refuse you to congregate?_ -MW

 _Dodging a question like this is plainly ridiculous. Either tell me what is it you are on about or leave me alone -_ SH

 _I can’t. Not like this. We need to meet in person, Sherlock. As soon as possible, I am not giving you a free hand, you don’t have a choice -_ MW

Not having a choice was a problem Sherlock had to encounter quite often lately. But it didn’t matter in this case, he has always been rather inquisitive and Mary was presenting him with an opportunity he would never pass by under usual circumstances. He was more than just a little curious, he _needed_ to know what is the meaning behind Mary’s odd behaviour.

 _Fine then._  He replied at last. _As you wish. Where it is you want to meet?_

Immediately after the message was sent, Sherlock’s phone vibrated in his cold, slightly trembling hand. Mary has just sent him the address he was supposed to drop by. Sherlock was well familiar with that part of London - posh, wealthy families were occupying the neighbourhood, but it was also a place full of half-ruined, uninhabited residences people tend to avoid because after being deserted for so long they’ve happened to become a home for all sorts of wild animals and in not so rare cases even for people who otherwise had no shelter to hide in.

Sherlock could have only guess why Mary chose this rather a strange place to meet up with him at. There could’ve been wide number of reasons, detective has been toying with few possibilities, but each one seemed to be a part of such an improbable scenario that he’d rather stopped dwelling about this topic for any longer.

He rose up from the chair and without being any concerned about the mess he left on the table behind he headed for the door. But almost as if Mary could read his mind, she sent him another text in the moment Sherlock’s hand was already hovering over the door handle.

 _We won’t be meeting just yet. I’ll let you know when I am ready -_ MW

That was the last message Sherlock received. He slumped down against the wall with a displeased growl and eyes pinned upon his phone, wondering what the bloody hell is Mary up to. He would never admit it, Sherlock has been always too high-headed to do so, but besides being curious he was also frightened. He knew very well what Mary is capable of but he refused to accept the possibility that she would betray John like this again, just an idea made him furious with anger. Still the worst was not even that she was acting so mysterious, Sherlock knew things John was still being unaware of, but there was neither right time nor place to tell him the truth yet. Sherlock had no idea how to do it without hurting him and moreover, they needed to get rid of Mary before that happens, that was their plan after all.

Them - Sherlock and his brother. Sherlock’s mind clicked upon realising that Mycroft should have known about what just happened. He dialled up his number in an instant, hoping that Mycroft won’t be trying to stop him, but as soon as he answered - his voice all huffy and peevish , Sherlock figured out that what he was about to do will anything but please the man.

“What is it you want this time, Sherlock?“

“Something’s happened,“ Sherlock replied and then got up from the floor, shuffling toward his chair while Mycroft offered nothing but silence in return.

“Perhaps if you were more specific-“

“Mary,“ Sherlock said, cutting his brother mid-sentence, “she wants to meet me.“

There was no reply coming from the other side, Sherlock could hear nothing but rather an annoying cacophony of whirring and fizzling for a couple of seconds, but Mycroft didn’t let him wait for too long. “What for?“

“She just wants to… talk I presume.“

“And you complied?“

“How could I say no, Mycroft,“ Sherlock grinned for himself.

“Have you gone mad?“ Mycroft exclaimed. “We’re pretty close from clipping her wings, if you’re going to ruin-“

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but not even he could believe the sentences his mind knitted in order to derogate the situation. “I am not ruining _anything_. Who knows, maybe she just wants to have an innocent chat.“

Mycroft frowned, Sherlock could tell from the bitter tone of his voice. “Good luck believing that. Sherlock, Mary is a trained assassin, a truly skilful one. If she wants to meet you in privacy, I have no doubt there will be guns involved and I bet that she will gratefully paint the walls with your blood the second she sees your face. You are sending yourself to a death trap, brother.“

“Why would she do that?“ Sherlock squirmed in his seat.

“What reason she has to kill me? I am on her side. At least that’s what she believes in.“

“What if she no longer does?“ Mycroft inquired. “What if she knows that we were digging up the dirt on her?“

“Ridiculous, you took the precautions. You are watching her every move, she’s like a monkey on a string, no way she would be able to do anything you didn’t know about.“

Sherlock had to admit that there was indeed something pretty fishy about all of this, but he had no intentions of showcasing a doubt in front of his brother who seemed to be rather determined to stop him from doing anything stupid again.

“Even _I_ make mistakes, Sherlock. If I were you I wouldn’t go there.“

“Thank God, you’re not me then. Listen, Mycroft, I want to know what is she up to, if she wants to meet me, be it, I am not a coward,“ Sherlock hissed into the phone.

“I’ve never said you are a coward, I am saying you are an idiot,“ Mycroft enounced. “She clearly has a plan we are not aware of, I am telling you, it’s a trap and your life’s at stake unless you stop acting like a stubborn prat.“

“Well, if she has some kind of a plan,“ Sherlock pondered, “it’s still better than if she arranged a preterm delivery. If we had to dump her after delivering a baby into John’s life, it would be much worse, wouldn’t be.“

“It’s always about John, isn’t it?“ Mycroft sighed in a manner that clearly suggested he’s more than just a little worried.

“I have no idea what you are talking about.“

“Sherlock-“

“Save it, if you are about to lecture me again, don’t even bother, Mycroft,“ Sherlock gasped, squeezing the phone next to his ear.

“As you wish, brother, but you should bear in mind - those who play with fire will get burnt.“

“God, Mycroft, _shut up_ already.“ Sherlock made an abrupt end to the call, tossing the phone across the room in an aftermath. He decided to not take any wise advice from his brother, despite knowing that Mycroft is the one he should be listening to in the first place. He was determined to rely on no one and nothing but his own brain, even if his confidence has been shattered, even if it meant he might pay for his actions with his own life.

***

Sherlock’s been waiting. Patiently. Hours have passed since Mary texted him for the last time. From that moment on Sherlock tried to occupy himself in every way possible, but whatever he engaged himself in was in no means a good distraction.

Going back to experimenting would be more than just a little useless and watching the telly was also out of the question. After minutes of mindless switching between the channels Sherlock concluded that the television is just a source of simply too much idiocy and he certainly wasn’t in the mood to be coping with it. He tried to soothe himself down through the music of his violin but his fingers were trembling too much to hold the bow steadily. If Sherlock wasn’t such a lover of the graceful melody the instrument was able to compose, he would undoubtedly throw it against the wall out of the sheer frustration.

 _John, what would John do,_ he asked himself while frantically pacing around the room. Whenever Sherlock was experiencing one of his tantrums, John was usually the only one who was able to reason with him. And even if everything else failed and no kind words or death glares were of any help, John still somewhat miraculously found a way to get to him.

But he wasn’t there at the moment. Sherlock needed him more than ever before, but he was alone and feeling as lonely as he haven’t felt in ages. He knew that nothing that could possibly happen would pull him out of this misery but perhaps a warm cup of tea with a spoon of honey would at least ease his mind a little. So he headed toward the kitchen to put on the kettle and prepare the mug.

Four minutes later there were however two mugs on the counter, flushed with piping hot tea. Sherlock has never stopped making two cups, not even after John left. He’s been doing that unintentionally, realising this tiny mistake only after the tea cooled down and already tasted like gross after being left untouched for the entire day.

Sherlock once again took his own mug and forget about the second one, as if John was there to take it and drink it later. He wasn’t… at least not yet.

Sherlock at first didn’t notice those distinctive sounds of footsteps coming from behind the doors. All he heard was a creak of wood when the door has been pushed and opened and the guest already entered the room. It was Mrs Hudson who Sherlock expected, but no, it wasn’t her who stepped into the dimly lighted space. When Sherlock turned over to - as politely as he was capable of - kick the quite unwelcomed intruder off the flat, his mouth felt open instead, hot mug almost slipping out of his hands.

“J-John? What are you doing here?“

“Hey,“ the man grinned, folding his hands behind his back as he stepped closer, “hope I am not interrupting.“

“You- you’re never interrupting.“

The truth was that, obviously, John couldn’t have chosen a worst time to pay a visit, but there he was - him and his stupid tomboyish smile that made Sherlock’s knees go weak. He never had enough courage to admit it though, not even in front of himself.

“Can I have a seat then?“

“Yeah, yeah, sure, make yourself at home.“

Home. Sherlock stiffened upon uttering that word. John used to call this flat his home, he’s not been even living there properly and it’s already been a place he felt safe and contented in. But then everything’s changed and Baker Street was no longer the place it used to be, cosy and warm, a little nest they shared and loved without ever having to express that love with spoken words. Once Sherlock returned after being gone for so long, John was no longer there and the place never felt colder and emptier. It was nothing more but a blank space, no beating heart that would make it feel alive.

“Erm, would you like some… tea?“ Sherlock asked once perceiving. The sight of John sitting in his chair has reminded him of the peaceful old times and besides feeling like being sent back in time, Sherlock almost completely forgot about the issue he was supposed to be concentrating on in the first place.

“That’d be lovely, ta.“

“I-I actually made two cups already,“ Sherlock tittered, but John was oblivious to the perplexity in his behaviour.

“Were you expecting someone else?“ John squinted, taking the mug Sherlock offered him.

“No. I just…I am keep making two, you know, just in case,“ Sherlock smiled softly. He mirrored John’s position and slouched down into his chair in front of that of John’s own. Their eyes met, but neither of them said a word. John took a sip from his mug, not leaving Sherlock’s eyes and so Sherlock had a chance to spot that shimmer of surprise and flattery when John realised it is his favourite tea he’s drinking - earl grey green, no sugar, right amount of cream and a light touch of a cinnamon.

Sherlock usually deleted no longer important information but he would never get rid of anything that even remotely had to do a thing with John Watson. He remembered his favourite beverage, colour, music, jumper, how he took his coffee, the way he laughed, the endless list of all his morning rituals, he never forget about the tunes John used to hum while in the shower, the smell of the bath soap and cologne he was using and the newspapers he read while they both shared their breakfast in more than comfortable silence.

There was a special room suited for all these little details in Sherlock’s mind palace. If there was a way to materialize that place it would be as ample as a library and filled with books that held the words devoted to no one but John Watson. Sherlock often spend hours taking walks between those shelves, remembering John, breathing him in, sometimes even talking to him, usually when he couldn’t be there with him in person.

This time it was different, John _was_ there, in flesh, glaring fondly at Sherlock while absently rubbing the rim of his mug, but Sherlock had no idea what to say. He couldn’t tell him the truth, not just yet. If John knew that Sherlock and Mycroft are after his wife, or worse, that Sherlock is supposed to be meeting her soon, he would either want to go with him or stop him. And that was something Sherlock wanted to prevent from happening.

“Sherlock?“

“Hm?“

“Are you here?“

“Here?“

“I mean, you have your fingers folded under your chin, you’re staring into the nothingness… I thought you were in your mind palace,“ John smiled, his eyes softening. He seemed to be exhausted and there was indeed something that has been worrying him, a somewhat heavy burden, but it was almost as if he didn’t want to be the one to bring up this subject upon the surface.

“I’ve been staring at _you_ actually,“ Sherlock said, corner of his mouth tugging up in a half-smile.

“What’s wrong?“

“You can read me as an open book, can’t you?“ John snickered, leaning forward, but Sherlock didn’t find it entertaining.

“It’s Mary,“ he added with a sigh when Sherlock didn’t seem to be ready to reply. Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat upon hearing that name. Mary. She was supposed to text him any minute. There was no excuse Sherlock had prepared in case it happens while John is still around.

“She’s acting strange,“ John continued, taking one more sip before putting the mug on the stool next to him. “And no, it’s not the hormones, Sherlock, she often disappears for hours and then when she comes back she has no decency to tell me where she’s been. Sherlock, I swear, if there was no baby, I would… God, she stormed out of the flat once again, right before I left.“

“Wait, she’s went off to somewhere?“ Sherlock’s brow rose. He immediately reached for his phone in fear that he missed the text while his attention was entirely focused on John, but there were no new messages.

“Hey, you alright?“

Sherlock felt John’s fingers clasped around his forearm. It was an electrifying touch, one that transmitted jolts of rapture throughout his whole body. It paralyzed him before he was even able to offer a reply. On the second try he barely opened his mouth, the phone clenched in his hand beeped.

 _I am on my way -_ MW

“I-I… I am sorry, John, but I have to go,“ Sherlock stammered, quickly rising up and grabbing his coat that was tossed over the arm of the chair. He rushed toward the door, not even turning back, but John of course couldn’t let him go that easily.

“Wait, what? Where are you going?“

Sherlock froze in the doorway, he expected John would ask questions, but he had nothing convincing enough to say, at least nothing that wouldn’t raise any suspicions.

“Sherlock?“

“I’ve got work to do,“ he replied at last, but such answer was for nothing but to make John pry like a monkey.

“What, a case? Can I be any helpful?“

“Yes you can…,“ Sherlock sighed, whipping around, “stay here, John, it’s for your own good. Trust me.“

“You have to be kidding me, right?“ John sprang up from his chair, approaching Sherlock so fast he didn’t even have a chance to protest. It took an unimaginable amount of effort to avoid looking John in the eyes, but Sherlock had to. He hated himself for that he has to lie to John again, but it was once again just so to protect him.

John however has been fed up, he had enough already, his voice was hoarse and thick with anger as he confronted Sherlock.

“I just told you my wife is acting suspiciously and _this_ is your reaction? You’re going to flee just like she’s been doing it for the past few weeks? Tell me, what the bloody hell is going on?“

The silence that just fell into the space was too heavy for both of them to handle it calmly. Sherlock wanted to spit out the truth but it was just a huff of shaky breath he let out of his mouth instead of words. And John’s been raging. Just an idea of him being left out of everything again was making him want to punch the wall so hard his knuckles would bleed.

“Sherlock, please,“ John hissed through his teeth, “if what you are about to do, has anything to do with Mary… you _have_ to tell me.“

Whatever excuse he’d have, John would know it’s not the truth, he knew this well enough. Sherlock was not able to lie to him anymore, nor did he want to anyway.  But for now he _had_ to, even though it meant that John will get upset with him… or even worse.

“I can’t, John, I am sorry. Please, stay here, promise me you’ll stay.“

But John didn’t promise him anything. There was still a sparkle in his eyes, a little glimmer of hope, but since Sherlock didn’t offer him any explanation, it soon died down like a flame blown off the candle. He just shook his head in a quiet disbelief and returned back to his seat, disappointed and maybe, from Sherlock’s point of view at least, even hurt.

***

It was more than difficult to leave Baker Street in the spirits like this. Sherlock would give everything for that he and John could do this together, solve cases, simply strolling along down the London streets side by side, just as they used to before. But in this particular case he was unfortunately personally involved and that was an obstacle always too exacting to overcome. Sherlock knew better than anyone else.

He was now glaring out of the window of the cab on his ride toward the place that could have very well been the place he’s going to take his last breath at. Not that he could see a lot. But even though the cloak of darkness has already covered the streets of London and heavy rain drops were drumming melancholic tune over the outside of the glass, Sherlock still didn’t tear his eyes away from the window, he didn’t care that all he saw would for most other people be nothing of interest. Just empty, drenched roads and gauzy mist crawling in the shadows of nasty alleys filled with the dirtiest and worst plague that could be found. Only Sherlock would ever be interested in such sights.

That horrid weather had actually reminded him of the night that happened so long as if it was during a past, different life they lived those days. It was a night they spent with John on the couch, tangled in blankets, laughing and eating leftovers of meal that could have been left in the fridge for days, but neither of them seemed to mind. There was a massive black out, it’s been cold and raining for days but Sherlock was in the middle of a case, first big one after solving the case of the Baskerville Hound and so he naturally refused to take a break even though all the odds were against him.

But thanks to John and his never ending zeal to make a human out of Sherlock, instead of solving a tedious case, they ended up giggling together like they were high, stealing each other’s glances like they were never too shy to admit their true feelings, they were simply happy, together and it was enough back then. It was one of the moments Sherlock cherished the most in his life. A moment he almost crossed the barrier and blurted out words too bold to even think about. But John never felt and he never would feel the same way as Sherlock, at least that was something Sherlock believed in back then, so he simply brushed off the idea of confessing his feelings. Sentiment wasn’t something he found appealing after all.

This memory was however still one that was always worth remembering. Especially now, once Sherlock finally spotted that tall, lurid building he was supposed to enter. Its grey, somewhat blurred silhouette has been surmounting above the rest of the district like a mountain soaring above the forest. It seemed that Mary had a thing for such eerie, florid places. Sherlock was sure that this particular house must be one of those already abandoned mansions that maybe belonged to one of her many ancestors decades ago. She apparently decided to confront Sherlock in the most pompous fashion. _Dull_ , Sherlock thought to himself.

Once the detective reached the front gate he was already soaking wet and gloomy, it was almost as if all the nature forces were against him. Almost as if all his actions were chased by misfortune since the moment he left John behind. He tore off his sleeve on the spike of the rusted fence he had to climb over and then even tripped over a swapped stone while walking a pathway that led across a rather forlorn front yard toward the entrance. The whole place was simply grisly and tenebrous, twining ivy vines climbing up the red brick walls and covering the house in dark spring green, untreated clumps of grass and ferns wildly growing in high and giving person a sense that somewhat feral animal might attack them in the moment they stop being cautious enough.

Sherlock predicted that Mary must be already there. Maybe hiding behind one of the corners, ready to kill without Sherlock even noticing where did the bullet come from. In that case, John would have to make another speech at his grave but this time Sherlock wouldn’t have a chance to grant another miracle for him.

Once he stepped inside through the massive wooden front door, he began looking for Mary, he’s been  searching the place for long and what seemed dozens of minutes, looking for clues, observing the interior inch by inch, from dusty carpets to ragged tapestry on the walls, but there were no signs of the woman. Apart from that creepy tangling feeling that someone or something is tiptoeing behind is back, there was nothing to suggest that there are any other living creatures around.

The structure of the house seemed to be in such a desolate state that either walls or even the ceiling itself could very well tumble down any second. Sherlock’s been aimlessly wandering around for more couple of minutes, crossing through another countless number of corridors, climbing the stairs up and descending down until he reached a small room as empty and shattered as the rest of the building. But there was something different nevertheless.

Sherlock finally found her - Mary. She smirked and stepped into the light of Sherlock’s phone he was using in change of a flash-light, circling around him and looking him down as if he was a prey and she a predator which could predict its every move. Sherlock felt vulnerable and Mary knew it. It was all a game, a mouse and a cat where Mary was simultaneously both – a mouse which was trying to hide and provoke a cat to find her, but once she succeeded, she turned into a cat herself and Sherlock was just a tiny rodent, quivering under the pressure of her deadly gaze.

“You took your time,“ she proceeded to say, pointing at Sherlock’s phone then. “Oh, you won’t need that anymore.“ She reached for a little switch on the wall and turn on the little flash bulb above her head, filling the little space around them with more vivid light.

“Whatever. Still quite a disturbing place, if I do say so myself,“ Sherlock uttered, pulling out a fake smile. He had to hide the fact that he was more than just a little nervous and being his usual cheeky self was apparently the only way how to achieve that.

“If I am not mistaken, this house must’ve belonged to your family, am I not right? Your mother was of English origin, so naturally, you’ve most likely inherited it from _her_ ,“ he brooded, slipping his phone into the pocket. “Let’s just hope there aren’t any ghosts around. The ones that are used to feed upon the darkest souls, it wouldn’t end up well for either of us.“

“Stop wasting our time, Sherlock,“ Mary rolled her eyes, backing a few steps away from him, “I’ve not called upon you in order to listen to your pointless babbling.“

“Then why am I here?“

She shrugged. “Because I have questions.“

“If you wanted to have a chat we could’ve gone and have a cup of coffee, sit down or whatever people do while chatting,“ Sherlock uttered, mock seriously. “What is this charade good for?“

“Oh, come on, It is exactly what you like, Sherlock.“

“Fair play,“ he nodded. “So, what is it you wanted to know, Mary… or-“ Sherlock hesitated but then he said what he’s intended to. It was more than clear what was the purpose of all this, there was no use pretending that Sherlock has no idea anymore. “I suppose I should call you by your real name?“

“I knew you would find out… eventually. “Mary smiled in a manner that could be easily interpreted as fearsome.

“Wasn’t that hard... it is anything but a pleasure to meet you, Aksana.“

Mary didn’t even blink upon being addressed by her true name. She casually, as if it wasn’t anything uncommon, pulled out a gun out of her purse instead, leaving her hand down however.

“You do realise that people who were once aware of this information are all _dead_ , right?“

Sherlock shook his head. “I am not scared of you.“ But what a lie that was. Mycroft warned him that Mary is sly and no one should dare to toy with her. But Sherlock couldn’t care less, he underestimated her, took the bait and as it seemed it was a mistake that might have very well cost him his life. His mind could only slowly comprehend the fact that he had nothing to defend himself with. At first he even refused to accept that he was simply wrong. Again. It wasn’t until Mary loaded her gun that Sherlock realised he somewhat fatally screwed up.

“Shame, you should be.“

“Sorry to disappoint your vainglorious self, but you are not nearly as intimidating as you aspire to be.“ Another colossal lie.

“God, you’re so naive, Sherlock,“ Mary hissed, grip around her gun tightening. “You expect I am not going to shoot you?“

“Of course not,“ Sherlock swallowed hard, his chin trembling but Mary fortunately didn’t notice. “You did that once, threatened me to do so on several more occasions. But if I’d show even the slightest glimpse of fear, I provided you the joy of bringing me down on my knees before you fire a bullet through my head and that is something I simply can’t allow to happen.“

Mary flashed him an evil grin full of disgusting gloat. “So you’ve accepted your fate,“ she nodded appreciatively. “But what makes you think I wouldn’t go for your heart?“

“My heart is of no importance. But oh, how you’d enjoy ripping a hole inside my brain.“

“You’re being so stolid, Sherlock,“ Mary chuckled. “Almost as if you were already used to dying. Well, naturally, it must be getting quite boring already.“

“Not as boring as your outfit. But on the other hand, it suits you… black as your heart.“

“You trying to be funny?“

“Am I not?“

“Shut up you bastard.“ For the first time Mary let her voice raise a little, but Sherlock didn’t seem to be startled by it. At least he didn’t let it to be shown. He kept standing there with hands in his pockets and a false smug face that would turn anyone else furious, but Mary got used to his manners long ago.

Neither of them seemed to pay attention to the silent squeaks coming from the corridor from behind Mary’s back. Not at first anyway. Sherlock noticed a single creak of floorboards, a footstep in the distance but it was all he could hear. And still, it was just him and John’s wife who were occupying the room.

“When were you planning on to tell John?“ Mary asked, turning Sherlock’s concentration back to herself.

 “T-tell what?“

“Oh God, this is ridiculous,“ she snarled, “let’s stop playing this stupid game and drop the facade, shall we? I know _exactly_ what’s going on in here. A little secret, Sherlock, a one you should have been probably aware of in the first place. I have my relations among those who are in touch with your brother. You’ve learnt things that could seriously damage me, you were gathering evidence to _out_ me, Sherlock, and what else for, if not so you can tell John?“

“So _that_ ’s what I am here for?“ Sherlock’s eyes squinted. “You've found out that I have discovered all of your secrets and so you lured me out _just_ so you can get rid of me, right? You think I possess a threat to you.“

Mary scoffed. “Oh, please, acting like a clueless idiot serves no purpose, Sherlock, you’re insulting not only your own intelligence but also mine.“

“Fine, then,“ Sherlock pouted, giving a surrendering nod. “But let me have a question, last one, people do that, don’t they? _Why_ are you doing all this? You’re still not able to let go of the life you’ve always led so why you simply won’t let go of _John_? You know you can’t have both. Not even after murdering me, I am far from being the only one who is aware of all what you’re still hiding. John _will_ learn the truth one day.“

The answer was simple. “I love him,“ Mary replied, but not in a way that would suggest it is a clear, true love she feels.

“I am risking everything just because of him. Look at me, I am willing to murder you so you stop meddling into our lives. And I will sweep of my way everyone who would dare to cross my path. I would do _everything_ for him, I know what’s best for him and it’s certainly not _you_ , Sherlock.“

Not in front of anyone else would Sherlock ever admit what he was about to. But he needed a straw to grasp on and had no other choice. He swallowed a few times, as if it were the words he tried to not let out, but then he glared at Mary’s dark, devilish face again and suddenly, those very words were falling out of his mouth even against his will.

“I would do _more_ ,“ he thundered. “I’d rather die a thousand times, I’d rather relive all the horrendous torture I’ve been through, if it meant that John will remain safe and happy.“

“This is not a competition, Sherlock,“ Mary grunted. “Besides, isn’t it too late for all this? You had your chance and you _wasted_ it. I am sure you didn’t plan on dying here tonight… without revealing your true feelings for John, yet here you are.“

Sherlock barely drew a breath. His mouth fell open, but he had nothing to counter with. He was exposed and for him, in the worst possible way. And Mary was clearly amused by all this.

“What’s the matter? Did I just hit your weak spot?“

“Weak-weak spot? Ridiculous.“ Sherlock’s voice rose higher he intended it to, almost as if he already lost all the control he ever possessed.

“There’s no use lying to me, Sherlock, I know you better than yourself. You claim your heart is not important, yet when it comes to John you-“

“Don’t be absurd,“ Sherlock cut her off but Mary laughed at him some more.

“You’re such a child, Sherlock. I can see through you, you’re so transparent, like made of a fragile glass. You know, I don’t want to get rid of you solely for that you staying alive would destroy me. If John learnt the truth, he would crawl back to you like a loyal dog he is. I am repulsed by the mere thought of that. Who knows, maybe you two would-“

“That is the most _preposterous_ thing I’ve ever heard,“ Sherlock convoked, gesticulating with his hands in the most theatrical fashion. “Even if you’ve never danced into his life with that ugly bittersweet smile on your face, he would never… John doesn’t feel that way.“

“I’ve never said he does,“ Mary snorted. “All I wanted to was to see that face of yours in the moment your own weapon turns against you. _Deduction_ ,“ she sniggered.

“Now, before I end your miserable life, _tell me_ ,“ she prompted him, raising her hand, gun pointing at Sherlock’s chest,“ any last words?“

What Sherlock needed was time and he was prepared to steal himself enough to survive this or at least to delay the moment of him taking a bath in his own blood.

“You worked for Moriarty,“ he said bluntly, the first thing that crossed his mind, expecting either an instant shot or at least a glimmer of reaction on Mary’s face but it appeared to be made of stone.

“And?“

“You-you lied to John about _everything_ ,“ Sherlock seethed, his fists clenching upon he reminded himself of what a horrible harm has been caused upon John. “There is _no_ baby. You tricked us, faking symptoms in front of me so _I_ would be the one announcing your pregnancy that very day you married John. Of course he didn’t notice, you didn’t have to pretend while you two were alone, not before it was all out. I actually envy you, in those rare moments when I am not despising you, it must’ve been really difficult, especially these past few months. I guess it weren’t pillows you stuck under your dress.“

Mary reacted in an instant, almost as if she forgot she was about to end Sherlock’s life. “It was a tad more pestilent thing to handle, I admit, but I am quite used to becoming a person I am not at all.“

The ruthlessness with which Mary delivered her words was making Sherlock’s blood boil. He gritted his teeth, trying to cope himself, but it was like leading a conversation with a snake which wrapped its viscid body around Sherlock’s, not leaving him a space to breathe. And Sherlock knew he is soon about to choke, Mary had no reason to not kill him after all. She apparently didn’t care John would get hurt, all she wanted was for him to stay with her whatever would be the cost.

“Is that all what you’ve got?“ Mary broke the silence, shifting a little closer with her hand still hovering in the air.

“Oh, there’s a lot more, but the point already stands. You are a _lunatic_. Obsessed with John and not in a nice way. I wish you would just shoot me already,“ Sherlock sighed out in hope that she will do the right opposite of what he was requesting. He had no plan, no serious way of how to prevent Mary from pulling the trigger.

“Just do it,“ he tossed his arms in the air, his voice raising, “shoot me, leave me here bleeding out and then go home and cook John a dinner, ask him to stroke your belly, kiss him a good night, tell him you are sorry for leaving and not telling him where you are going whenever you did that.“

Mary’s brow rose. “He told you?“

“Of course he did. Well, truth be told, he’s probably still back at Baker Street, he came to me because he already doubts you. The thing is… I didn’t tell him where I am going, but what do you think happens after they’ll find my dead body, hm? Who do you think John will blame once reading tomorrow’s papers?“

“You said he’s at Baker Street.“ Mary smirked.“ What proof shall he have of me not being home then? I’ll be back before he returns, he might saw me leaving, but I’ll make sure no suspicions will be raised upon me.“

Sherlock’s eyes shut close in what felt like a defeat. “You’ve thought of everything, didn’t you?“

“Of course. Oh, and by the way, no one will find your body, don’t worry,“ she added with a crooked grin. “Poor you,“ she laughed. “You thought you can outsmart me?“

Sherlock did, for a second. All before he realised that Mary knows what’s been brewing up from her from the very start.

“Listen, if you going to kill me now, John will-“

“Pull through as before. Thanks to me and my undying support.“

Maybe she was right but Sherlock refused to give up so easily, not after what he’s been through, not after what he’s learnt. “So you rather going to hurt him once more, you will continue on lying to him, devil knows how you are going to secure a child once you are due to give birth, just so you can keep on living in this fantasy?“

“John is happy, Sherlock,“ Mary uttered as if she wasn’t even listening to him, as it was a fact. “Why would you try to destroy it by infecting his mind with things he could live on his life without even knowing? If I am not going to stop you and you tell him the truth, it will be _you_ who’s going to hurt him the most.“

“You are _mad_ ,“ Sherlock groaned, staring at Mary with nothing on his mind but how gratefully he would see her suffering.

“I am sorry, Sherlock,“ she said at last, “but the discussion’s over for once. Your plan has failed and you’re going to pay for it.“

“John will _never_ forgive you this.“

“He might not even care. He doesn’t need you anymore, Sherlock.“

“ _I beg to differ_.“

Much to Sherlock and Mary’s astonishment, John Watson stepped out of the shadows from behind Mary’s back, with a gun in his left hand, gun which has been left pointing at his wife. He paid no attention to Sherlock but it was just to make sure that Mary won’t make any wrong move.

“John, how did you-“

“You think I didn’t learn anything?“ John growled, not drifting his gaze away from his wife. “I’ve been following you since you left Baker Street.“

“You shouldn’t be here, John,“ Sherlock warned him, but there was no use as it seemed.

“You think I would let you getting shot again? Or worse?“

“So you _did_ tell him where are you going,“ Mary concluded, peering over Sherlock who however insisted on what he said before.

“I-I didn’t.“

Mary was about to raise another objection but John snapped her, taking a small heedful step forward. “Shut up, both of you, I am not an idiot. I figured it out by _myself_ ,“ he snarled in a tone of pure exasperation.

“And now… _you_ ,“ he pointed at Mary, “put that gun down or I swear I am going to shoot you.“

 “I wouldn’t count on it, John.“ Mary felt everything but fear. There was even a smirk on her face, one that was supposed to alert them that she is the one in charge and they are supposed to play by her rules.

“You threaten him once more and I am going to pull the trigger, I am not fibbing.“

“You’d never shoot me.“

John’s eyes were dark and flaming with despise he felt toward Mary since he learned about all of her secrets she tried to hide from him.

 “Tell me one good reason why.“

“Because despite all what I’ve done, you loved me before. Deep down you still do.“

“You wish.“

“John-“

“Shut the hell up,“ John shut out. “You lied to me, in the worst way possible. You-you-“

Sherlock was about to interfere but John shook his head in order to stop him. This time they had to done it his way and Sherlock had no other choice but to surrender.

“I know you lied to me about our baby,“ John continued, trying hard to not fume. “You fooled me into thinking I am going to be a father, how could you?“

Mary seemed to be caught off by the fact that John learnt the truth. Yet there was no sign of remorse on her stone cold gloomy face, nothing but sheer contempt.

“Who told you? Him?“ She beckoned towards Sherlock who remained silent but was as much surprised as Mary.

“Yes, actually yes, it was him. About five minutes ago,“ John replied.

“So you’ve been eavesdropping on us since the start?“

“It seems that’s the only way I ever learn a thing.“

“What else you’ve heard?“ Sherlock asked and John knew exactly why, he’s been hiding behind the corner for long enough to hear every word, but he barely glanced at the other man, not least giving him a direct reply.

“Enough to say that this person I no longer consider my wife,“ John groaned, looking daggers at the woman. “I _loathe_ you, Mary, or whatever your name is. I should’ve seen what kind of a scoundrel you are, I should have left you and never forgive you, I shouldn’t have trusted you.“

“Well maybe you shouldn’t,“ Mary uttered, shrugging her shoulders. “Maybe you should have left me alone with a baby, John.“

“Wha-There was no baby,“ John yelped, swallowing down a sob that was about to escape his throat.

“But you think there _was_. You stayed because you thought I am expecting your child.“

Mary’s words were toxic, poisoning John, he didn’t understand how she could’ve been so vile and cruel. She admitted that all what she’s done was just a part of some sick plan how to not lose him, but she felt no regret. She was cold and vicious, manipulating everyone she came to contact with, even her own husband. John now understood that the only person Mary cared about was herself and no one else. She wanted to have John, but not because of a love that was pure, she loved him, but in her own twisted devastating way.

“How come you can let those words out of your mouth and still act as if everything was alright,“ John gasped in disbelief. “Did you really think I am going to stay with you for any longer? After all this?“

“So what?“ Mary asked, “are you going to kill me?“

“If you won’t put that gun down then yes.“

“What if I don’t care?“ She narrowed her eyes, not changing her stance. “What if I told you that Sherlock is going to die if you won’t kill me?“

“W-what the hell are you talking about? Sherlock, what is she talking about?“

But Sherlock was as clueless as John. It seemed that Mary completely lost her sanity somewhere in between assassinating people for money and faking a pregnancy in order to hold John in leash.

“It’s me or _him_ , John.“

John’s hand clenched around the gun as his eyes darted over Sherlock. Sherlock, who’s not been glaring back at him, Sherlock who was convinced that John would rather die than make such a decision, it didn’t matter that the odds have changed. Either that or he would naturally choose his wife over his best friend. But how wrong the detective’s been.

John glanced back at Mary, wry smirk hanging upon his face, his gun aiming right at her head. Although his voice has been shaking, he managed to utter the words that he should’ve said much sooner and definitely under better and less turbulent circumstances.

“It’s _him_. It’s always him. Always been, always will. _Sherlock_.“

Despite John not even being able to look at Sherlock after he let those words out, he could hear him uttering his name, silently, his voice filled with unveiled shock. He circled around Mary and took a few steps forward to claim his place besides Sherlock. He felt a need to guard him, serve as his shield, _protect_ him with his own body from any harm that could come. The gun in his hand had still been pointing at the woman he once cherished, but now felt only hatred towards.

Wicked smile crossed Mary’s face as she backed away a little, gun still aiming at her target. Both John and Sherlock thought that she’s about to finally give up, but there were no boundaries she wasn't willing to cross. She had nothing to lose.

“If this is your choice, John… then allow me, to have _mine_.“

Crack. Shot. Fire and scream. Sherlock’s name on John’s lips as he threw himself in front of the man, collapsing into his arms the second after the bullet drilled into his flesh. It all happened too quickly, almost as if someone hit fast forward. The very next thing Sherlock was aware of was John’s hand spasmodically clasping the sleeve of his coat as he drew them both down on the floor. Sherlock fortunately perceived soon enough to catch him under his waist, wrapping his other arm around his torso. Their eyes met the moment before John’s body stiffened in Sherlock’s embrace and in the same moment his face uncovered every so far carefully hidden emotion, hitting Sherlock as painfully as if he’s been the one receiving the shot.

Before John’s eyes fluttered shut, it was all there. Devotion. Care. Love. All the reasons why he decided to take the hit instead of Sherlock. It was there and Sherlock couldn’t act as if he didn’t notice. He caressed John’s face ever so gently, merely breathing at the sight of his weakest self. It happened again, John’s life was in danger and again, all because of Sherlock.

A cry was close to escape his throat when he realised how much blood John already lost and how much precious time he’s already wasted just kneeling down there, serving no purpose at all apart from blaming himself for what happened. Not letting off the other man, who wasn’t responding, but fortunately still breathing at least, he managed to reach into his pocket to pick his phone and then call an ambulance, something which he knew he should’ve done seconds ago.

Sherlock snapped at the lady who answered him sooner she managed to ask a question, but despite him trying to cool down right after, he could barely explain what happened, his voice cracked more than just once and on the verge of tears it was anything but easy to offer only the truly important information.

Despite promising him that medics will turn up as fast as possible, Sherlock suspected that by the time they arrive, John will be most likely gone. In fact he was sure that only few minutes, maybe just moments are parting him from what seemed to be an inevitable death and there is no way ambulance could make it in time.

Sherlock had only few seconds to plan the next step. He tried to collect himself, steady his breathing, think clearly, analyse the situation, but there was no point in attempting to remain calm. Once he glanced at the place the gory wound was located under the shredded piece of cloth, he lost every fragment of sanity he possessed so far. John’s got shot far enough from his heart, but Sherlock could tell that it was a no less a dangerous injury.

Mary ran away right after the gun slipped out of her hand in horror. From what Sherlock could conclude, she apparently decided to go for his heart as she intended to, but her aim must’ve stray out of the focus when John so unawares jumped in front of her target. The gun she used was also the same one that fired a bullet at Magnussen’s office, that was clear, but not any helpful at all.

Sherlock’s actions were reduced to nothing but snivelling upon being presented with such a horrific picture. He felt the fluid soaking all through John’s clothes, his own hands and scarf were smeared with crimson blood as he desperately tried to stop it from leaking even though he was well aware of that it is mostly useless. John was dying and Sherlock panicking, he was frantic in fact, cursing himself for reacting so slowly and foolishly before.

Things could have gone only worse at this point, and much to Sherlock’s dismay they certainly did. His throat tightened, desperation and hopelessness growing upon realising that John is not respiring anymore.

“Joh-John? God, no, no, no, you can’t die, please, John,“ he cried, cradling John’s body while kindly placing him down on the cold floor, trying to not make any fierce movement that would cause any more damage to the man.

Clocks were ticking too fast and there was only one thing that could have been done in order to save his life. Something Sherlock wished for never having to do, but here he was, having no other choice.

“I am so sorry,“ he whispered while gripping John’s chin and carefully tilting his head back so he can get an air into his lungs. Sherlock sincerely hoped that John will have a chance to kill him for what he was about to do. He took a deep breath, pinched John’s nose and pressed his open mouth against John’s parted lips, breathing in and repeating the same once more before he pulled back and shifted to his chest in order to restart his heart.

He swiftly unbuttoned John’s shirt, bent over John’s body and pressed his palms flat against the middle of his chest, pushing down, counting the number of compressions he made, all while his eyes have been hovering over John’s pale face.

“…fourteen, fifteen… nineteen, twenty… John, please… come back to me… twenty five, John… _please_ … thirty,“ Sherlock groaned out of desperation, quickly shuffling and leaning down over John’s mouth again.

But John lost already too much blood and what was probably even worse, he was still not coming back to himself. Sherlock heard a siren in the distance, but he could tell that it was probably already too late. It didn’t make him stop however, he was keep trying to pump a life into John’s body, he refused to stop, he was willing to spend the rest of his life saving that of John’s if it was necessary.

A desperate scream escaped his throat, he was crying for help until his throat was sore and every uttered word hurt and he could barely draw a breath. But nothing hurt as much as the sight of John’s life slipping in between his fingers. Nothing could cause him more pain than a possibility of John Watson being gone forever.  So he was keep going, trying to bring him back to earth, but his body betrayed him. It was shaking, quivering, Sherlock could merely control the movement of his hands, not least stop the tears that were flowing down his cheeks in streams.

The moment he was about to give up, almost as a sign that he shouldn’t, about a half dozen of people rushed up the stairs and down the hallway, approaching Sherlock and the man he was now just hopelessly embracing in his arms.

“Where the hell you’ve been for so long?!“

“Please, make the room for us, sir.“

“I am not going anywhere,“ Sherlock exclaimed, not even realising that people that surrounded him were there to help John and not harm them.

“ _Please_ , step _aside_ from that body, s-“

“ _Body_?!“ Sherlock was up on his feet so fast he almost lost his balance. His vision all of a sudden turned blurry and the whole room around him was spinning because of the dizziness he felt, but letting anyone to help him, not least to touch him was out of the question.

Instead of trying to get out of the way he nudged at the older wrinkly doctor that soon enough realised there is no use in trying to reason with the detective “His name is _John Hamish Watson_ , you _idiot_ … h-hey, what are you doing with him?“

Sherlock didn’t notice the moment rest of the medics lifted John’s body up on the stretcher or when they put an oxygen mask on his face. He ignored each of the useless attempts to stop him from getting to as close to John as possible and refused to leave him even after a couple of men tried to pull him away. So when they finally manage to head for the exit, it was while Sherlock was running alongside them, squeezing John’s hand so tight his knuckles turned white.

He didn’t let go for a second, not even when they were getting into the vehicle, not while taking the ride to the hospital. Sherlock wasn’t able to answer the questions medics were asking him, he was concentrating on nothing but John’s face and his almost ice cold hand resting in his own.

“John, please,“ Sherlock whispered, his eyes full of tears he couldn’t stop from rolling. There was so much he wanted to say, so much he didn’t find the courage to tell John before but now he would willingly speak up even if it meant John would laugh him off. Sherlock would rather have _that_ , he would be in fact glad if he could hear John’s laugh for at least once more, even if it was just because Sherlock embarrassed himself.

“ _John_.“ His name was now the only word in the world that mattered for Sherlock, the only word he was capable of uttering. But it was enough. Because it was the word thanks to which Sherlock could express everything he felt, everything he was still too scared of saying in any other way.

_Stay with me, John._

_I need you._

_I love you._


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock wished it was him. It shouldn’t have been John struggling for life in that moment, not least because of sacrificing himself for the sake of keeping Sherlock safe.

It was almost as if the time has stopped and stood still since they’ve reached the hospital. Sherlock didn’t even move from the moment he couldn’t stay by John’s side anymore, he was staring blindly at the wall in front of himself, sitting alone in a small, freezing cold waiting room. Before they left him by himself, John’s physicians have informed him that the chances of his friend surviving such a fatal shot are less than minimal, but Sherlock strictly refused to accept the possibility of that John would not make it alive out of the operating room.

Despite feeling so strangely drained, exhausted and downright miserable, he was on a high alert, each time a doctor or a nurse passed by him he quickly rose up from the chair in panic, ready to receive news, any kind of news, but no one seemed to be paying attention to the man. People were insolently ignoring him, so he fell back down in an instant they were gone, hopelessly burying his face into his hands, not even demanding any further attention.

Sherlock could’ve stay like that for hours, hiding his tears from the outside world, weeping in silence, blaming himself for everything that has happened. For being so stupid, for swallowing the bait Mary served him, for being so foresightless to not realise that she was about to trick him, for that he couldn’t have predicted that John was not going to let him go by himself this time.

It wasn’t until much later when Sherlock opened his eyes again, blinking away the tears, sniffing quietly in sorrow that didn’t seem to fade. He sensed that someone was now standing by his side but still winced like a rabbit upon realising that he was not alone anymore. At first he could see only the silhouette of a person towering above him but then, once his eyes got used to the light again, he could tell it is his brother who’s joined him.

“What are you doing here for God’s sake?“

“I thought you might fancy company.“

“Ridiculous.“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, but his still hoarse and gruff voice unveiled the truth behind his feelings. Despite he had intentions to show weakness in front of anyone, not least his older sibling, his tearful red eyes were enough of an evidence to prove that he spent the last few hours crying.

“I am of a different opinion, brother,“ Mycroft said in a tone cold as usual. Not even in the situation they found themselves in he managed to drop that mask of a distant, cool man. “I was afraid you would do something stupid, left on your own. Remember the last time I saw you in the state like this? Thirty years ago, Sherlock, the moment you were given an empty collar and a worn out leash that belonged to no dog anymore. And remember what you did after then? You-“

“Is _this_ your idea of helping?“ Sherlock grizzled, not even glancing at Mycroft.

“Are you trying to suggest that John is going to die? Because if _this_ is what you’re here for, then do me a favour and go back to where you came from. How even did you learn about what happened?“

“Why the tone of suspicion?“ Mycroft’s brow furrowed.

“Why?“ Sherlock’s jaw clenched. His mind has been clogged with false assumptions and surmises, suddenly the idea of his own brother deceiving him like this wasn’t even as preposterous as it could seem at first.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?“ Sherlock started. “First it turns out that Mary is pretty well aware of that we’re after her and then you appear out of nowhere, just _hours_ after the incident. There is no way you could-“

“Are you accusing me of a betrayal, Sherlock?“ Mycroft squinted, chest puffed up, chin raised and a conspicuous tone of disbelief in his voice. Sherlock shrank terribly small in front of the rage of his brother but there was nothing that could persuade him into backing off, not even a little.

“I don’t know, maybe,“ Sherlock hissed. “Mary told me she is in contact with a few people among your sort, she _knew_ from the very start that we are planning to get her arrested, she was _prepared_. How come you didn’t know, how could you fail as horribly as this if it’s not you who’s behind this ploy?“

“Are you asking these questions in all seriousness? Allow me to remind you,“ Mycroft cleared his throat, giving his brother a stern look, “it’s been _me_ who warned you in the first place. You were convinced that such possibility is not even probable while I was the one to suspect that Mrs Morstan might already be aware of that she’s being haunted, I told you - even I make mistakes, and apparently… I made rather an irreversible one in this case, I admit. I trusted the wrong people. I should’ve kept this secret between the two of us as you wished. But, Sherlock, there is a blame to share. Don’t forget that if you weren’t so stubborn, probably none of this would-“

“Oh, none of that would have happened, I know,“ Sherlock groaned, “you don’t have to be reminding me of _that_.“

“But this guilt I feel is no worse than the fact that the bullet was meant for _me_!“ Sherlock was up on his feet again, vigorously thudding his shaking fists against the opposite wall while another drop of tear rolled down his cheek.

“John, he-he took that bullet instead of me and I don’t even understand _why_ ,“ he yelped.

“Don’t you?“ Mycroft asked.

“What do you mean?“

“Sentiment, Sherlock,“ Mycroft replied, his voice finally soothing down, even his face has softened. “Maybe you should switch off that brain of yours for a second and look into your _heart_ instead.“ Without another word uttered, he reached into the pocket of his coat and whipped out what was just a single cigarette. He held off his hand but Sherlock refused the offer.

“It’s forbidden to smoke inside the building,“ Sherlock grumbled.

“As if you were the one to obey the rules, brother,“ Mycroft smirked. “Look, I am not persuading you to take it. Right now I am suggesting you to go home so you can pull yourself together. It’s been a rough night.“

Sherlock immediately turned to face his brother with a plain resentment behind his reddish glassy eyes. 

“Rough night?“ he barked. “You’ve not been there, Mycroft, you have no idea, it’s not been just a _rough night_. It’s been the _worst_ night of my life, you think that going home and acting like everything’s alright will ease the-the-“

“Pain?“

Sherlock scrunched his face in ire, gritting his teeth like a wild roaring wolf which is about to rip his victim’s throat apart. But Mycroft wasn’t alarmed, he knew his little brother well enough to know what lies behind this wrath.

“Don’t worry, I’ll stay around,“ he assured Sherlock. “If anything changes I swear you’ll be the first person to learn, Sherlock. Look, you are of no help here anyway. Not in such state like this.“

“But I don’t want to leave him,“ Sherlock sobbed but managed to hide it behind rather a strained growl.

“He- John saved my life.“

“It wasn’t the first time,“ Mycroft remarked, then paused to step closer and lay a hand over Sherlock’s shoulder. “And I am fairly convinced… not the last either. John is going to pull through, just wait. Believe. He’s strong and brave, your doctor is going to be safe and sound in no matter of time.“

There was nothing Sherlock could’ve done or say to contradict Mycroft’s words. It was nothing but true after all, John has saved his life so many times Sherlock had already lost count. He couldn’t give up after everything they’ve been through, he owed John that one and besides, the faith was all he had left, the last straw he could grasp on.

He hesitated for a couple of more agonizingly long seconds, but then he turned around and stepped forth for the exit, snatching the cigarette out of Mycroft’s hand before finally leaving the room.

***

As soon as Sherlock entered the foyer he quickly headed up for the stairs, but much to his disappointment he wasn’t lucky enough to avoid an encounter with Mrs Hudson. Before Sherlock managed to come up with a lie believable enough to slip through without having to answer any questions, the landlady flooded him with thousands of enquiries.

“Oh, my heavens, Sherlock, what happened?“

“Not now, Mrs Hudson.“

“You look awful, my, have you been crying? Christ, and what is-is that blood on your clothes?“

Sherlock had to gather all the control he still possessed in order to not simply push Mrs Hudson out of path. He knew she didn’t deserve such an odious attitude but he could also predict that speaking up and therefore opening these still too fresh wounds would push him over the edge again. And breaking into the tears in front of yet another person was certainly not something he desired to make a habit of.

“Mrs Hudson, _please_ , let me walk through,“ he insisted, but she didn’t seem to be listening.

“Is it John? Something’s happened to John, right?“

 “I don’t want to talk about it,“ he snarled, his voice hoarse with emotions, “now if you’ll excuse me-“

Sherlock forced his way up the stairs at once, leaving Mrs Hudson behind despite she had grabbed the sleeve of his coat to stop him.

The moment the detective stepped into the poorly lit room, his eyes darted over the plush chair, chair in which John sat just hours before the incident. Sherlock groaned at the mere sight of it. _Sentiment_ , he thought to himself, it was just a piece of old furniture, yet indescribably valuable. For Sherlock it was probably the most treasured element that could be found in the flat, naturally, unless John was around.

He sank down into the chair, leaving out a heavy, shaky sigh afterwards. Sherlock nestled himself but felt anything but comfortable in the chair that belonged to the man whose life was at stake in those moments. Ignoring the tears that moistened his cheeks again, he ran his fingers across the arm of the chair, taking deep breaths, one after another in hopes of composing himself but it brought no calm upon the sharp pain in his chest.

 _John, John, John_. Sherlock kept mentally repeating the man’s name, as if it was a way to remedy him. If there was anything he could do for John right now, he’d have done it without flinching. He would get up and pursue Mary, find her and kill her and that way avenge John even if it meant that he’d rot in the prison for the rest of his life.

The second Sherlock allowed himself to remember the face of that atrocious woman, his fists clenched in untamed anger. All those intrusive thoughts he tried to sweep away in order to not descend into derangement were suddenly coming back in vivid images painted all over his mind. First there were just words, ‘ _it’s him_ , _always him,’_ Sherlock’s stomach tied in knots upon remembering those words. Why would John say that? Sherlock couldn’t quite comprehend the meaning behind those simple syllables, not even after scrutinizing each of them to detail. Not even the notion of John sacrificing himself made it any clearer, not the open love in his eyes, Sherlock saw it, but couldn’t understand it. He was still groping in the dark like a blind man, like there was nothing to read in between the lines.

And then there was that moment that made him want to shriek in agony, the moment the bullet was fired up into the air, hitting John who fell into Sherlock’s arms, the moment Sherlock’s entire world has crumbled down into billions of pieces without a chance of being built anew.

No, that’s not what happened. Sherlock shook his head as if he could get rid of those thoughts that way. His world - John was still there, alive, still fighting, only a loser would give up while there was still, even the smallest fragment of hope. And Sherlock wasn’t a loser, he refused to reclaim this nomenclature, especially after all the torment and excruciation he’s already survived, after all those years he refused to give up even when there was no more light at the end of the tunnel.

So he wiped away the tears off his eyes, taking a quick glance around the room instead of keep on torturing himself with dark memories. There must’ve been something he could do to prevent himself from going insane, something that would make the time flow faster.

But Sherlock already had troubles concentrating on his surroundings, his head ached, he was tired and dehydrated and yet resting, not even taking a short nap, wasn’t an option. He wanted to be fully prepared to return to the hospital if there was a need, it didn’t even matter that he might relapse due to grogginess before that even happens.

Hospital. Mycroft. Sherlock’s hand slipped into the pocket of his coat upon remembering what was still residing at the bottom. Temptation to simply light up the cigarette he just pulled out was too strong, breathe in smoke, clear his mind off of dirt and mess and misery. But he didn’t do it.

He took the cigarette after he was tricked into thinking that The Woman has died, he did it once again when John decided to forgive his wife, but he couldn’t do it after what happened this time. Because John wouldn’t want him to, this wasn’t the path Sherlock should choose and fortunately enough, he realised it before it was too late.

If he took this cigarette in this situation, it would mean that sooner or later there would come another one and then Sherlock would reach for something worse, something far more dangerous that could permanently damage him. There was still a pack of sterile syringes, after all, hidden behind sacks of pastries and cookies in one of the kitchen cabinets and even though he had no supplements at home, it was anything but an issue to obtain whatever drug Sherlock craved for.

It was all too simple, the easiest option was to simply get high and forget about the world around him, but Sherlock had no heart doing something such unfair to John, not after he saved his life and his own was imperilled. He was staring absently at the cigarette squeezed in his hand, disgusted, swallowing down the taste of gall in his mouth. His hands were still smeared with dark drained blood, John’s blood, Sherlock felt its foul taste on the tip of his tongue. If he didn’t avert his eyes away he would probably throw up on the carpet.

That settled it. After a moment of reconsideration, Sherlock threw the cig roll into the firebox and it was as if the heaviest weight just fell of his shoulders. Without any further cogitation he raised up from his chair, heading for the bathroom so he can wash off the dried blood off his hands.

He didn’t even risk a glance at his wretched face in the mirror, all he was focusing on was quickly scrubbing the stains off his skin. Looking down at the crimson coloured water however triggered those flashbacks again, once again he saw John in front of his eyes as if he was there in the present, pushing Sherlock out of the trajectory.

Sherlock could barely swallow through lump in this throat. He heard the shrill of the gun firing, John shouting his name, over and over again, like a broken gramophone, streams of blood sloping through his fingers again and then there was _she_. Once Sherlock lifted up his head, he nearly screeched in shock. He could see Mary’s reflection as clear as crystal in the mirror. Standing behind him, pointing her gun at him, repeating the words ‘ _it’s all your fault’_.

“ _Get out_.“ Sherlock wasn’t even sure who is he yelling at. If it was the ghost of that woman or all those unwelcomed creepy memories. One thing he was however certain of. Mary wasn’t there with him in the room. She was just a hallucination induced by insomnia, the result of Sherlock’s slightly twisted mind and a lack of sleep. His brain was fortunately still awoken enough to distinguish between what was real and what was just a fantasy.

Clinging the borders of sink, taking deep breaths and filling his mind with bright, good memories of him and John, Sherlock eventually managed to lock off those thoughts that tried to poison his brain. It was as if someone suddenly switched on the light, darkness that enveloped his body and brain vanished into the nothingness as the man collapsed down on the floor.

Sherlock had never been more delighted that he did not inject himself. If he had done that he would not have been able to successfully quell those obsessive, persistent visions and under these conditions he would have been most likely found dead from overdose later on morning.

It took him quite long until he could function properly again. At least half-properly. Sherlock knew that if he was going to crouch there idly, letting his mind to wander off again, all those hallucinations might come back again so he rather got up, turned around and left the bathroom, walking back toward the sitting room.

The sun has already risen above the horizon when Sherlock collapsed into John’s chair again, he must’ve spent hours in the bathroom without even noticing it. His head fell against the back of the chair and despite all spent effort he couldn’t keep his eyes opened any longer. He didn’t sleep for almost two days, still not nearly close to the amount of sleepless night he experienced during his stay in Serbia, but it was, as proven a while ago, enough to make him deprived.

A sudden noise however roused him before he was even able to drift off to sleep. Sherlock concluded that it could have been no one but Mrs Hudson, that distinctive gait, feeble steps, breathing with difficult while climbing those steep stairs, he had no idea how he could have mistaken John for her the evening before. But then again, his mind had been preoccupied with Mary and his own judgement was proved to be clouded that day.

Sherlock didn’t bother to turn around when Mrs Hudson entered the room, he assumed that she’s just came to make sure that Sherlock hadn’t done anything stupid, but as it turned out, he wasn’t as right as he predicted.

“Sherlock, dear, are you alright?“ Mrs Hudson asked.

“I am fine.“ There were more lies behind this simple sentence than Sherlock ever uttered out loud, but he refused to admit how miserable he truly feels so he just decided to fib.

“Then why aren’t you picking up your phone?“

“Why should I be-“ Sherlock’s voice halted mid-sentence once his mind clicked, his eyes flew wide open, his trembling hand reaching immediately for the phone in his pocket. Blank, unresponsive screen of his phone made his heart race wild and frantic upon realising what that means. The battery ran dry and he didn’t even notice, it could’ve been hours.

Sherlock opened and closed his mouth a few times, as if the cog wheels in his head stopped turning at sudden.

“W-what happened,“ he stammered, “why-why didn’t you tell me sooner?“

“Why, my boy, tell you what? I just received a call from your brother. He said you’re not responding and so he had to-“

“I have no time for storytelling, what did he say?“ Sherlock’s almost magically newfound energy spurred him to jump off the chair and then all he needed was just one long step and he was already face to face with Mrs Hudson.

“Oh, he seemed to be in a hurry,“ she said coyly, “all he wanted from me was to deliver you a message.“

“For God’s sake, Mrs Hudson, what message?“

“He was speaking in a quite cryptic manner, Sherlock-“

“ _Message_ , Mrs Hudson,“ Sherlock pleaded.

Mrs Hudson first pouted over Sherlock’s rudeness but then she finally retorted. “He said, ‘your Sleeping Beauty has awoken’.“

“What? That’s it? What is that supposed to mean?“ Sherlock frowned.

“Don’t look at me like that, Sherlock, you are the genius here,“ she grumbled, stomping off the flat.

 

Sherlock followed soon after, right after he realised what Mycroft was in fact trying to tell him. It was all there, loud and clear, Sherlock couldn’t believe it took him more than just a few seconds to figure it out. Mycroft was just playing another one of his games – damsels in distress, dragons to slay, knights in shining armours – it was all just a secret code, camouflage, probably just a show so Mrs Hudson suspected nothing more than she had been already aware of. ‘Your Sleeping Beauty has awoken’ could have meant just one, although Sherlock found the choice of words quite pathetic and unnecessarily soppy. John was the Sleeping Beauty in this case, John has awoken.

***

The hospital hallways were rather full and crowded, unlike the night before, and so Sherlock had to cram himself through the multitude of people in order to reach the room John had been put in. Mycroft had been waiting for him in front of the entrance so they can go and visit John together, but as soon as Sherlock learnt in which room he was now resting after being successfully recovered, he was on a run and not even his brother could catch up with him.

“Sherlock, he’s not going to escape anywhere for God’s sake, you don’t have to-“

“Shut up, Mycroft,“ Sherlock shushed him, prancing forward. “How long he had been awake?“

“As it turns out, his injury has not been as life-threating as you were told. I tried calling you as soon as the surgery was finished, Dr Watson woke up and even started communicating not so long after then. He asked about you but then he fell asleep again.“

“He asked about me?“ Sherlock stopped abruptly, turning so fast and unexpectedly toward his brother that the other still walking man almost crashed into his body.

“Yes,“ Mycroft said, rolling his eyes at the sweet naivety of his brother. As if there was anything else John could be asking for. “His first words were simple - ‘where is Sherlock’.

Sherlock could feel his stomach sinking low and gurgling on emptiness, but he barely noticed, the most important in that moment was John. “What did you tell him?“

Mycroft shrugged. “The truth, of course. That I sent you home so you could take a well-deserved rest. But judging from your bloodshot eyes, the clothes you had apparently no time to change and the sounds your body’s producing, you didn’t even take my advice into consideration. God, when is the last time you ate or drank at least?“

“I am fairly convinced I had a tea yesterday evening,“ Sherlock retorted. “Do I need to remind you for how long is an average human body able to last without any need of water or food?“

“Average human body maybe,“ Mycroft nodded, his voice drooping low as he shifted closer to Sherlock and grabbed him by his forearm, “but the body of a man who’s already been at a risk of malnutrition should be taken proper care of. You’re hazarding with your own health you bloody idiot.“

“All I am concerned about is _John_ ’s health in the moment,“ Sherlock sizzled under his breath. “So do me a favour and stop wasting my time so I can finally see him.“

“Weren’t you listening? He’s fast asleep again.“

“I want to see him anyway.“

“I am afraid they won’t let you.“

“We’ll see about that.“

Sherlock freed himself from Mycroft’s grasp and then continued his way down the hallway until he finally arrived at the door of John’s room. He took one deep, quite insecure breath, but before he even managed to grab the handle, he was in a light squeeze of someone’s hand again. This time it wasn’t Mycroft however, his brother was nowhere to be found.

Once Sherlock turned around there was this short, raven haired nurse in a baby blue uniform dress giving him a look full of such umbrage as if she just caught him in the middle of a robbery.

“Where do you think you’re going?“

Sherlock sighed in frustration. “Last time I checked it was perfectly legal to visit an injured friend,“ he groused.

“But you can’t just walk in there, sir,“ she remarked, “who did you inform about your visit?“

“I-“

“Who are you even supposed to be?“ Getting no valid answers in return, the nurse just glared all puzzled at him, determined to not back off.

“You know very well who I am for God’s sake,“ Sherlock ranted. “Will you just let me in… _please_?“ he added with as much politeness he could gather at once. But there was not much use in that, the woman’s eyes were gliding up and down his body, she was scanning him from head to toes instead of offering permissions.

“I’ve seen your face before. You are… Sherlock Holmes, aren’t you?“

“Obviously,“ Sherlock hissed through his teeth.

“Then you are not a family member of the patient behind these doors, are you?“ nurse inquired.

“No, that I am not, are we doing Q&A or what?“

“I am sorry, sir, but due to the delicacy of the situation, we are not allowed to let anyone near the patient unless you identify yourself as a relative.“

“This has to be a joke,“ Sherlock yammered.

“I assure you that it’s not. This man you’re so eager to visit has been shot and-“

“You don’t say,“ Sherlock cried out, slowly losing temperance. “I have his blood on my clothes as you can see, I am very well aware of what happened last night- no, don’t look at me like that, God, I am not the one who shot him. I am one of the very few people who truly care about him, John has no living relatives. Apart from his dotty alcohol-addicted sister, he’s got no one but me, you _have_ to let me see him,“ Sherlock demanded, not even minding he said all of that stuff out loud.

“Mr Holmes, I am-“

“Listen,“ he glanced over her name tag, “ _Catherine_ , you either let me see John or I’ll-“

“Sherlock, what the hell are you doing here?“

If Mycroft didn’t approach them in time Sherlock would definitely have to be dragged out of the hospital against his will.

“This lofty nurse here won’t let me in, Mycroft,“ he lamented. If he was a little child he would surely put his foot down but even as an adult he wasn’t very far from it.

“I told you, didn’t I?“ Mycroft sighed in what was an utter exasperation but Sherlock acted as if he never heard those words before.

“I don’t understand, do I look like a cold-blooded murderer? I just want to see him.“

“Sherlock, I think it would be for the best if you’d let me speak from now,“ Mycroft flashed him a crooked, rather forced smile and then he turned toward the nurse.

“I apologise for this completely inappropriate behaviour of my younger brother. However, I just spoke to the doctors and they see no problem in Sherlock paying his friend a short visit. I can assure you that this man here poses no threat for the man behind this door.“

“I am not sure,“ she wavered, eyes flicking from one Holmes back to another, “I have my instructions-“

“Just let him in for God’s sake,“ Mycroft professed, clenching on the handle of his umbrella.

“Al-alright then.“ The nurse seemed anything but over the moon that she had to retreat like this but then she finally let them pass, eyes sternly pierced upon them when she walked away.

“Did you _really_ speak to them or it was just a trick?“ Sherlock asked once she was gone.

“Of course I did. Where do you think I disappeared?“

“To fetch yourself a coffee?“ Sherlock beckoned towards the paper cup in Mycroft’s hand.

“I am glad you are still in possession of your marvellous detective skills, Sherlock,“ Mycroft retorted, taking a sip of his beverage. “Now, I reckon you have more important things to do, don’t you? Just remember that he’s still sleeping and even if he will wake up, he’s probably going to be a bit groggy and exhausted. You can’t expect him to chirp like a bird so soon after what happened.“

“I am aware,“ Sherlock replied. Mycroft smiled at him once again, but this time it was a warm, honest smile, full of encouragement. Then he simply turned on his heels and left so Sherlock could finally enter the room.

Once he breezed in, his eyes welled up immediately; he couldn’t prevent himself from whispering John’s name upon seeing him in such condition like this. Even if the man himself couldn’t hear him. Carefully, as quietly as if he was just a mouse, he closed the door behind himself and walked toward the bed, never darting his eyes away from John’s face.

There was a small chair he grabbed and placed right next to the bed so he could sit as close to John as possible. It was a heart wrenching sight. Sherlock was now glad that John was so peacefully sleeping, he’d like to apologise as soon as possible, but he was sure that he wouldn’t be able to utter any words at the moment. Not when his throat was so dry and his eyes were filled with tears again. And an apology said in such croaky voice, full of sobs and sniffs wouldn’t even count, Sherlock wanted to do it properly.

So he just sat there, watching, examining John, the way his chest was raising and falling back as he breathed so serenely in his sleep, he observed his face, trying to figure out what he was dreaming about. He purposefully avoided looking at his torso wrapped in bandages; because if he spent another minute reminding himself of what happened he was sure he’d start bawling so out loud that it would wake up John. And that was not anything Sherlock was aiming for.

His eyes trailed an invisible line down his body, up until they stopped being pinned upon John’s hand. Sherlock couldn’t help but stare at that hand, wondering if John would get mad if he dared to hold it. His own fingers twitched with need, he needed to feel John’s skin again, as to make sure that he’s really in the room, that he’s not being just another pipe dream or hallucination.

Sherlock shifted even closer, slowly, warily lifting up his left hand and then putting it down on the mattress next to John’s. He wasn’t even sure what on Earth he was doing right now but he was certain of that it was something he desired to do for ages, ever since the first night they spent together chasing criminals.

His hand was now laying just an inch away from John’s but he still hesitated. What if John was going to wake up and yell at Sherlock, what if he didn’t even want to see him? Just because he asked for him, didn’t mean he’d appreciate his presence, Sherlock thought to himself. He was close from panicking but in the end he decided that it must be worth the risk, what if he’s never again going to have such an opportunity. So his fingers shuffled over the sheet and at first he brushed the back of John’s hand only lightly, so lightly that even if John was awake he probably wouldn’t even notice. Nevertheless, this mere contact set all the cells inside of Sherlock’s body on fire, all of a sudden he felt like he was doing something so indecent that his hand jerked backwards in an instant, as if he just touched something thorny.

As soon as he retreated however, John squirmed in place, mumbling something incoherent in sleep, something sounding so close to Sherlock’s name that Sherlock almost fell from the chair out of shock.

“John? Can-can you hear me?“ he asked but as it seemed, John was still sleeping like a log. Sherlock wasn’t sure if he should repeat what he had done before but in the same time it was a temptation too alluring to ignore. So now with a tad more confidence he placed his hand over John’s again, leaving out a small blissful sigh as he tenderly stroked his skin. John didn’t show any signs of vigilance anymore and therefore Sherlock could lean back on the chair and keep on watching for him and wait until he was going to wake up again.

But the detective himself has been already so tired that his eyes fluttered shut in a few moments. Without even trying this time he soon drifted off to sleep, dreaming along with John while his hand was still covering the other man’s.


	3. Chapter 3

“ _Sherlock, hey, Sherlock, wake up_.“

The voice Sherlock heard was coming from a distance; it was a voice familiar, yet there was something different about it, something odd. This voice was mellow and soft, uttering Sherlock’s name with grace and profound love, yet he couldn’t see the person pronouncing these words, all he saw was darkness as black as the starless night.

But then he felt a touch. Gentle, tender brush of someone’s thumb over his hand and all of a sudden the room around him was filled with no blackness but bright almost blinding light. Sherlock’s eyes were shut as soon as he opened them, pulsating pain in his head has returned and with such force that leaving his eyes open hurt in a really no negligible way. He still couldn’t even orientate himself in the space, for a second he thought he was at Baker Street but no, this room smelled too much of cleanliness, medicines and infirmary.

“You okay?“

It wasn’t until he heard that voice again, now close and real, almost palpable, that Sherlock realised where he in fact was. Memories started flowing back all at once, loading his brain with a ton of information.

“Sherlock?“

Sherlock risked opening his eyes again, what other choice he had, painful as it was. He put his hands on the both sides of his temples, rubbing small circles to sooth the ache. Once it faded away at least a little, he could finally turn to his left and see John, fatigued, smiling a little worryingly at him, but still looking better than Sherlock expected.

“John? You- you’re awake.“

John’s lips spread into even a wider smile upon noticing that heavy sigh of relief escaping Sherlock’s throat.

“Been for a while,“ he replied, his voice raw and tired, sounding entirely different from what Sherlock heard before his awakening. “Unlike you. When did you arrive?“

“I-I don’t even know,“ Sherlock admitted. “I am sorry, John, I didn’t intend to fall asleep here like this, I-“

Sherlock stiffened, not even because John has seen him sleeping, which was embarrassing enough itself, but what Sherlock considered much more awkward was the fact that his hand was still laid over John’s. Maybe John didn’t notice until then, maybe what Sherlock felt before was just a dream and John never stroked his hand but then again, he didn’t brush it off either and so Sherlock just stared helplessly at their now entwined fingers.

“God, I am so sorry, John, I have no idea how this happened.“ Pretending that his hand acted on its own in his sleep was much easier than to admit that Sherlock craved for this feeling and so he shamelessly reached for John’s hand to hold it.

“That’s okay,“ John giggled but then a fresh wave of pain in his torso pacified him and his grin turned upside down within a second.

“So you’re not angry with me?“ Sherlock asked as such in anticipation of receiving a negative answer. He slowly drew his hand away but this sudden loss of contact with John made the world feel as grim as if there were no colours anymore. Everything was just grey and gloomy again.

“Should I be?“

“Well, it’s my fault that you’re now here,“ Sherlock beckoned toward the bed. “It’s my fault that you’ve been… that you’ve been shot and-“ Sherlock could barely contain himself but no, he refused to burst into tears in front of John. It happened once, what felt like eons ago, but this time Sherlock wouldn’t be able to stop and that was something that he wanted to prevent from happening at all cost.

“I lied to you again,“ he added, his voice filled with sincere regret. “I didn’t tell you what I am planning, that I am about to nab your wife. John, if I was honest with you from the very first second, none of this would have happened. Please, forgive me. Just once more.“

John was quiet. That wasn’t a good sign, Sherlock had no idea what to expect. He wished that John would simply let the rage boil over but instead there was just silence and no words uttered out loud. This wasn’t the John Sherlock knew so well, this wasn’t him at all. He was calm, as calm as there is calm before the storm.

“John?“

Still no answer, John didn’t even seem like he was paying attention to Sherlock anymore. He was just nervously crumpling the hem of his duvet, his forehead crinkled as if he was in somewhat deep state of thinking.

“You’re right,“ he said at last, at first hesitating but then turning back to Sherlock whose eyes were already glassy despite his best endeavour to keep them dry .

“What you had done was reckless, irrational, kind of stupid, and yeah, you shouldn’t have kept the truth hidden away from me, you should’ve trusted me,“ John continued. “It was one of your most ludicrous acts and fine, yes, I am angry with you a little, I admit.“

“So that’s it.“

“No, shut up, let me finish, please. I am angry, but not even because you didn’t tell me that you’re plotting against my wife. I am angry because after all this time, after everything we’ve been through together, after I forgave you for that you had left me alone, that you had let me grieve for two years… how could you doubt that I would forgive you this time, hm?“

Sherlock frowned as if he couldn’t believe the words he just heard.

“You-you forgive me then?“

“Of course I do,“ John nodded. “I am not going to pretend that you need to make up for it, I am too exhausted for that and honestly? Sherlock, I can’t even be mad at you for longer than five minutes. I don’t think it will ever be possible from now on,“ he chuckled quietly.

“But wait…“ Sherlock’s brows knitted in a thick line. “Before I left you alone at Baker Street yesterday, you seemed to be quite disgruntled, you demanded answers. And now you don’t even want to hear any explanation?“

“What is there left to explain?“ John frowned, acting rather indifferently. “I overheard enough last night, what I had witnessed was kind of sufficient, Sherlock.“

“John, I am sure you have questions,“ Sherlock said in his desperate attempt to have the old curious John back. “I am willing to answer _all_ of them, I swear. I don’t want to hide anything from you, not anymore.“

“Don’t you?“

“Of course not,“ Sherlock affirmed. “Come on, ask,“ he requested.

“We don’t have to do this but… fine, as you wish.“ John took a deep breath as to steel himself up. “First of all, Mycroft refused to tell me, he wanted _you_ to be the one, so pray tell, did you leave me out of your plan just because you once again thought I am going to ruin it? I guess the answer is already given, but I wonder how honest you’re prepared to be.“

Sherlock opened his mouth but no sounds were leaving at first.

“You _swore_ , Sherlock,“ John reminded him, suspecting that his friend is about to back pedal.

“I know,“ Sherlock swallowed before speaking up again, but it was more than difficult to pronounce words at the moment. “John, Mary was planning to deliver a baby… somehow- no, wait, I am getting there, don’t worry. You were so thrilled and I-I didn’t want to hurt you,“ he spitted out, avoiding John’s gaze. “Sure, soon you would learn the truth anyway but I had no idea how to tell you while Mary was still in the picture, I was scared that you wouldn’t believe me if I told you and so I-“

“Wait, hold on,“ John interjected, “you thought I would believe Mary and not you?“

“Are you mad now?“ Sherlock peered at the other man from under his lashes, his voice merely above a whisper.

“No, I am not mad, Sherlock, I am disappointed,“ John groaned when another jolt of pain struck his body.

Sherlock’s heart skipped a beat, without even realising it he was suddenly on his feet, bent over John with his hands on both of his shoulders. “You okay, should I call a nurse?“

“No, it’s fine, just… it hurts a bit, but I am fine.“

“Are you sure? Maybe you should rest some more, shouldn’t I leave?“

“Yes and no, Sherlock, you’re not getting out of this now.“

Sherlock only very reluctantly sank back down on the chair. He kept his eyes locked firmly on John’s face from then on, ready to intervene if there was any need. But John seemed to be fine enough and determined to keep on asking questions as Sherlock proposed.

“I told you dozens of times that you can trust me, Sherlock,“ John said in a very serious tone,carefully shifting himself to a more comfortable position. “If you asked me to not tell Mary a word, Christ, I wouldn’t even flinch. I am on your side, I’ve always been, Sherlock... Besides, I would understand why I should keep my mouth shut. If you told me that Mary was faking her pregnancy and that she was still not done doing all that filthy shit despite promising me that she will never touch a gun again… yes, I would be upset for a brief moment but I would never confront her, I am not stupid-“

“I know you’re not stupid,“ Sherlock cut him short before John managed to finish his sentence. “You’re clever and brave, John, you’re everything a good man should be. _I am_ dull, I am an idiot, and it’s me who screwed up the most in the end.I shouldn’t have listened to Mary I shouldn’t have gone and met up with her.Yes, I couldn’t know that Mycroft’s people are such treasonable rats but Mycroft himself warned me and I wasn’t listening.“

“Well, we all have done mistakes,“ John sighed out loud.

“But no one has done more harm than me,“ Sherlock objected.“It all went so horrendously wrong because of me, John. Maybe if you knew the truth beforehand, none of this would have happened. Mary would have never attempted to kill me… well, maybe she _would_ but under different circumstances and in that case you wouldn’t be there to-to-“

John’s brow quirked. “Save your life?“

“Precisely,“ Sherlock gasped. They finally breached the subject Sherlock felt the guiltiest for.

“How-how am I supposed to live with this memory of you almost dying because of me?“ he asked under his breath. “John… I still don’t understand, God, why did you do it?“

“Because… Jesus, she was right, Sherlock,“ John sighed. It was clear that reminding himself of the events of this recent past was nothing he found a joy in. “I wouldn’t be able to do… to kill her. I was… I don’t know what I was thinking. I should’ve at least expected that after everything she’s done, that it’s useless trying to reason with her, fuck, how could have I been so naïve? I’ve heard her so heartlessly talking about this fake baby, about how she wanted to keep me just for her own sake, Sherlock, and I still believed, hoped, whatever, that she was not going to fire a bullet at you.“

“She’s fooled us both, yes. But,“ Sherlock leaned closer, keeping his eyes on John and voice down, “that doesn’t explain why you acted so recklessly, she wanted to shoot me and _should have_ shot _me_ , not you. John, you didn’t have to do it.“

“Weren’t you listening? I was incapable to pull that damn trigger, what other choice I would have if I wanted to save you?“

“But-“

“Shut up, Sherlock,“ John huffed, lazily nudging Sherlock’s chest. “You know what, I am banning this subject for good.“

Sherlock appeared to be rather scandalised by what John was propounding. There was no way the detective would let it all go so easily and John was aware of this, yet oddly enough, he seemed to be resolute to set a seal upon the topic.

“You think I am going to simply forget about it?“

“Sherl-“

“Don’t ‘Sherl’ on me, John. I am going to track Mary down and she will pay for everything she’s done. Especially for this.“ Sherlock made a vague gesture in the air, pointing toward John in hopes he was going to catch on. Suddenly he didn’t feel like talking so openly about how his, hopefully soon to be ex-wife, marked him for the rest of the life.

“Sherlock, you should leave Mary alone,“ John yelped. “I don’t like the idea of you risking your life all over again just so you can get your revenge or whatever. Truth be told, I’d like to not talk about Mary at all. At least not while I am still stuck in this bloody hospital. I am sure we’ll have to go through this once I am back home anyway.“

“How long till they discharge you?“ Sherlock was the one to change the subject even though he was also the one who wasn’t particularly happy about it. He was determined to do even the impossible to get Mary behind jail bars, even though John didn’t approve of it .

“Who knows,“ John shrugged his shoulders. “My doctor said it’s a miracle that I pulled through so fast and without any consequences. But then again, as it transpired, it wasn’t as bad as they thought. I apparently didn’t even lose as much blood as it seemed so at first. What I estimate is that they keep me here for about a week before I’ll be able to walk away by myself.“

“A-a week? Isn’t that perhaps too rushed?“

“What? Rushed? Look, it’s been barely sixteen hours since I was shot and here I am, leading a conversation with you.“

“Yes, but, judging from the faces you’re making and your own words, it still hurts, “Sherlock pointed out warily, not even trying to hide the tone of worry.

“It does, but that’s what the morphine’s for.“ John’s smile was a little wry and bland; Sherlock didn’t even bother repaying it. It was a rare sight, but his face was suddenly warm and open, his so far deeply hidden feelings emerging on the surface, written all over it. And John noticed it. It caught him in shock, it was as if all of a sudden the sky was cleared off and the sun could for the first time after ages peek out from behind the heavy dark clouds. Sherlock was beautiful that way, graceful, shining with something John would never call love because this was Sherlock, right? He didn’t feel that way. But then John remembered what Mary said last night and his heart started beating fast and out of rhythm, heart rate monitoring machine beside his bed beeping loudly in response.

“John, John, for God’s sake, what’s going on?“

“No, no, no, sit back, Sherlock, it’s alright.“ John assured him, gently gripping him by his wrist and so coercing the man to listen to him. As Sherlock slouched back on the chair, the beeping calmed down and John’s heartbeat did the same but the man himself was still panting hard as if he just ran a marathon.

The doors into the room flew open as the dark haired nurse who refused to let Sherlock into the room before, came to check on the patient.

“Is everything alright?“ She asked, gaze falling suspiciously upon Sherlock.

“Absolutely,“ John nodded assertively. “Mind if you gave us a couple more minutes?“

“He’s been sitting here for _hours_ already,“ nurse complained, beckoning in Sherlock’s way, “you need to take a _rest_ , Mr Watson.“

“Just a moment please. Then I’ll go back to rest, I promise,“ he faked a smile until she turned around to give them some more privacy again.

“I should go,“ Sherlock said absently, eyes pinned upon the closed door instead of John.

“You should stay,“ John objected. “Would you stay for me, Sherlock?“

“If-if you want me to.“

“Of course I do want you to. Look, I know I said we’re done for today, but I have one more question actually,“ John pursed his lips as if he was about to ask something he didn’t even have enough courage for.

“Sherlock,“ he breathed out, his voice at first higher than he intended it to sound so he had to clear his throat. “What you told Mary… you-you know what I mean, was it all true? Or was it just another one of your tricks? Did you mean any of that?“

Sherlock knew he should look John in the eyes and admit what he’s been feeling since as long as he can remember, but what would be the purpose? Sherlock was still pretty sure that John would laugh him off if he learnt about his feelings. When he thought that he was losing John forever he would do it without hesitating but right now when the time has come and he had a chance to confess, it suddenly didn’t seem like the wisest idea. But telling John that what he said in front of Mary, not even being aware of his presence, was all just a farce, that wasn’t an option either. So here he was, Sherlock had to lay all the cards on the table.

“Yes,“ he uttered bluntly, steeling himself before lifting up his gaze. There wasn’t a grin hanging upon John’s face however, his lips were parted and for reason beyond Sherlock, the monitors around him were beeping rapidly again. They both ignored that this time.

“I meant every word of it, John.“ Sherlock’s voice cracked and quivered with emotions but he pulled through it. “To ensure your safeness is my priority, no one, _nothing_ in this world means for me as much as you do. “

Neither Sherlock nor John could believe the words that had been just spoken. John blinked a few times in utter confusion and Sherlock was just sitting there silently for a moment, fiddling with his fingers, heat building up in his cheeks and chest.

“Can I now ask you something too?“ Sherlock piped up, not even taking a breath beforehand.

“Y-yeah, sure, go on,“ John prompted him, his mouth still hanging open and brow furrowed.

“First of all, I am not even sure where I am going with this, so bear with me please. What I want to ask you however, is something what has been bothering me since I heard you say it,“ Sherlock uttered, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth as if it refused to cooperate with him.

“To be fair, it’s not even a question per se. I am just a little bewildered to be honest. John, when Mary asked you to choose between the two of us… _you chose_ _me_ ,“ he breathed out disbelievingly. “Why?“

These were yet unfathomed waters they were testing. Up until that moment, neither of them attempted to ever discuss anything even remotely intimate, both of them avoided asking such delicate questions in fear of receiving dismissive reaction. And so neither of them had any idea how to give adequate answers, in this particular case, John. He opened and closed his mouth a few times, like a fish grasping for water, no words being uttered at first.

“Sherlock-“ he managed to say, but then Sherlock cut him off before he was able to continue.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t feel like it.“

John felt terribly guilty. He demanded honesty from Sherlock yet he kept on fibbing and hiding the truth from him. Only a coward would act this way, John thought to himself. Sherlock would disagree but John considered himself being a one in that moment.

“You’re right, I don’t feel like it.“ John’s voice was a little harsh. He turned his face away from Sherlock and for a couple of seconds he was just glaring up at the ceiling.

“But still… I am going to give you an answer you deserve,“ he added after a while, still not facing the other man.

John had actually no words prepared but what he was sure of is that he’s not about to confess his true feelings for Sherlock. Not yet at least, not to an extent that could somewhat badly influence their relationship. He needed more time for such decisions and besides, despite everything he’s heard and seen that day and the night before, he was still convinced that what Sherlock felt couldn’t have been a romantic love and so his feelings wouldn’t be requited that way anyway.

“I chose you for the same reason I took the bullet for you, Sherlock,“ he said, his voice gravelly as he finally glanced back at Sherlock. “And I admit it wasn’t just because I was incapable to disarm Mary.“

Sherlock’s heart was beating so fast that if he was the one being monitored, all those funny machines would most likely explode due to overheating. And John didn’t even say anything that cataclysmal yet.

“What I meant to say, Sherlock, is that you were always my first choice, Sherlock, _always._  No one has ever mattered for me more than you. I can’t believe I am going to say this out loud but… if-if I had known how important I was for you, if I knew how deeply you care about, me I would have never, baby or not, I would have _never_ go back to her after what she did to you. I would have even left her for you, anytime, even the very second you had returned. Hell, if I had known you were alive back when you faked your death I wouldn’t have wasted my time looking for a new relationship, I would have waited for _you_.“

It wasn’t the entire truth but enough to begin with. John had omitted the most important part of his confession, he didn’t say anything about love nor how from the first moment he laid his eyes on Sherlock he wished for nothing else but to kiss those firm enticing lips. But Sherlock wouldn’t want to hear any of that, at least that’s what John thought.

Sherlock on the other hand was having a difficult time speaking. He was pointlessly blinking at John in amazement, occasionally opening his mouth but he wasn’t able to say a word until only much later, still pale and quite in shock.

“I-I didn’t know, John.“

“Well, sure you didn’t. I did my best to hide my obsession with you,“ John tittered but Sherlock didn’t find any of that funny, not at all.

“I think I should be really going now.“

This was exactly the reaction John expected yet he had hoped differently. His heart clenched at the mere sight of Sherlock rising up from the chair, his face dejected and no spark in his azure eyes.

“Sherlock, wait, I didn’t mean to insult you.“ It was a poor attempt to stop him, but John had no idea how to do it any other way.

“You didn’t insult me,“ Sherlock mumbled, now standing frozen in the middle of the room, eyes pinned down upon the floor tiles.

“But we both now need a little time alone, I guess. And you need to rest, so… later. I’ll be back soon, don’t worry,“ he added, walking his way toward the exit.

***

Sherlock did return as promised. He didn’t even leave the building to begin with, save for those five minutes he needed to get a fresh air into his lungs. Mycroft suggested that he should go back home again and at least change his still bloodied clothes but Sherlock disagreed. He did manage to pacify Mycroft by taking few sips of coffee and three bites of donut his brother bought him.

Once he was back seated next to John’s bed in the afternoon, the tension was still there and the first minutes were awkwardly tedious.  But neither of them brought up what they had discussed that morning. They acted as if the conversation never happened, except of course, it did. It was almost as if they both, silently, implicitly agreed on that they won’t talk about their feelings anymore. At least not while the nurse _Catherine_ and a myriad of other people could hear them while spying from behind the door.

Due to Sherlock’s insistence (and a little meddling by Mycroft) John spend total of nine days in hospital, even undergoing completely unnecessary examinations in order to prevent any further complications. Sherlock had remembered very well how his own heart almost gave up a week after he was shot and such a scenario was completely forbidden from happening to John.

John was immensely pleased with all the attention he was receiving from Sherlock. He had already gotten used to the fact that Sherlock was there beside him when he woke up in the morning and that he left only very late in the day, far beyond the end of visiting hours, but Mycroft arranged him a special permission so he never got into any trouble.

They had talked neither about the shooting, nor about what they confessed. But the presence of those heavy unspoken words hovered in the air between, like a stark reminder that they couldn’t keep this subject buried forever.

The day John was meant to leave the hospital they had however even more important topics to discuss. John might have been allowed to go home, but neither of them gave much thought to _where_ his home actually was. John didn’t want to go back to the house he shared with Mary, that he was certain of. He also had no access to the flat he used to live in before he moved in with his wife so there was only one another option, one that left both John and Sherlock flustered once they brought it up.

“So Baker Street it is,“ Sherlock breathed out, nervously squeezing the strap of John’s bag he offered to carry out. They were sitting on the bench outside of the main entrance, waiting for a cab which was unfortunately taking forever to arrive.

“Well, it would seem so.“ John flashed him an uncertain smile, drawing up in his coat when a chilly gust blew around. “Not gonna lie, Sherlock, I thought I was never going to come back,“ he added, “not permanently.“

Just the idea of John living at Baker Street again left Sherlock speechless. John belonged there, without him it was just a plain, boring place Sherlock loathed because everything was a constant reminder of the man he loved.  But he rather showcased no happiness but paradoxically something weirdly close to impassivity. Almost as if he couldn’t believe that John was moving back for real. He wouldn’t believe it until all of John’s belongings were moved back to Baker Street.

“Who knows,“ he shrugged, staring off into the distance with a sad smile. “Maybe not permanently. Maybe you will soon find someone else and-“ Sherlock’s voice faded into a tiny surprised squeak once he felt a cold touch of fingers, lingering over the back of his hand.

“For someone who claims to be a genius, you can be a pretty rubbish observer sometimes,“ John giggled, watching his own fingers brushing Sherlock’s skin. Once however he spotted a group of people approaching them, he quickly retreated and shuffled a little away from Sherlock as if what he was just doing was something illegal. Sherlock on the other hand kept his gaze fixed upon his hand, not paying attention to anything that was happening around him, not even John who addressed him at least three times since then.

“Sherlock, you okay? God, I am sorry, I have no idea what’s gotten into me. It was a mistake, please-“

John reached for Sherlock’s arm, but his hand froze in air once he changed his mind and pulled back. He was angry with himself in that moment. So angry and even frightened of himself that he’d willingly punch himself in face. After moments of relief that Sherlock had not given up on him despite being confronted with his sincerest feelings, he screwed up again only days later and in quite a colossal way.

“Sherlock, please say something.“

“Car.“

“What?“

“Our car’s arrived,“ Sherlock uttered, beckoning toward the black vehicle parked just a couple of feet away. He rose up, supporting John with one hand, his baggage in the other one and no words on his lips. John opened his mouth to say something, but before he managed to, Sherlock was already hauling him inside of the car.

“221 B Baker Street,“ he ordered and then slouched back in his seat, fastening his belt without even glancing at John.

“You’re not going to say anything?“ John asked after five minutes of insufferable silence.

“What should I say?“ Sherlock was gazing out of the window so he wouldn’t have to face John.

“I am sorry.“

“You already apologised.“

“But-“

“There was no need. Not back then not this time either. _I_ should be sorry,“ Sherlock sighed, turning to John, that odd, sorrowful smile on his lips again.

“What on Earth should _you_ be sorry for?“ John scowled.

Sherlock handed off an immediate answer. “Because each time you try to talk to me about… _us_ ,“ he had to take a pause along with a deep encouraging breath upon letting out the word, “I scatter off like a fearful rabbit. J-John, I’ve never-“

“No, no, it’s okay,“ John smiled at him fondly, this time not wavering for a second to put his hand upon Sherlock’s shoulder.

“I understand, it’s difficult for both of us,“ he said, his thumb rubbing a circle over the pliant cotton of Sherlock’s coat. “I guess we still haven’t quite recovered from the last serious conversation we had. We’re definitely not ready for another one it seems.“

“Agreed,“ Sherlock nodded in approval. “We should just concentrate on the fact that we’re going to be living together again.“

“Forever,“ John chuckled all of a sudden, easing off the tension at least a bit.

“You’re never going to get rid of me again, you silly idiot,“ he added in this typical mock-serious manner once Sherlock frowned at him all puzzled.

“But what about-“

“What about whom? Sherlock I-“ he glanced at the cabbie in front seat, but the man was fully concentrated on the road so John turned back to Sherlock, leaning closer and keeping his voice low. “I need no one else but _you_.“

***

They hadn’t uttered another word until the cab reached their destination. Once Sherlock got out of the car he picked up the bag and then held his hand off for John who surprisingly enough didn’t even protest. In fact, he was glad that Sherlock kept in mind the fact that John should be saving his own pains, not making any unnecessarily hasty movements, even though the detective perhaps took it a little too seriously.

“Sherlock, I could have carried that bag by myself,“ John ranted once Sherlock paid the cabbie and they headed toward the front door together.

“You shouldn’t be exerting yourself, remember? Besides, your psychosomatic limp has partially returned from what I can gather.“

“You’re exaggerating,“ John snapped him. “You and all those bloody physicians too, I am fine, can’t you see?“ John tried to prove it by taking a few brisk steps, but as soon as he hastened his pace a sharp cutting pain hit him in the ribs and he had to reach for the railing in order to not collapse on the pavement.

“John? John, you okay?“ Sherlock had the other man safely in his arms sooner John even managed to ask for help. “God, why do you have to act like-“

“You?“ John snorted.  “Correct me if I am wrong, but you escaped the hospital half-unconscious, while still in need of a morphine. Which one of us is a greater fool?“

“We both are,“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, yet he was speaking in quiet a serious tone. “But right now, it’s _you_ who we’re talking about. Don’t you remember what the doctor said? You’re still weak and you’re going to remain that way for another couple of days. Maybe weeks even.“

“Err, Sherlock, this is not the first time I got shot,“ John remarked. “I know how it works.“

“Well, excuse me but the first time you got shot it was your shoulder,“ Sherlock said earnestly as if it was a fact John wasn’t aware of. “ _This_ time you barely survived and you’re damn lucky none of your ribs are fractured. If the bullet hit you just an inch-“

Upon registering John’s raised brow Sherlock decided that he should shut his mouth and help his new and old flatmate into the foyer.

As soon as they walked in they both glanced over each other, quite unable to process their own cyclone of thoughts. They were back together, back at Baker Street where all their, often crazily insane adventures started so many years ago. John’s eyes scanned the room, up and down from left to right, as if he was trying to make sure that everything was still at its right spot. His stomach clenched, now as he stood there, ten days later, it was an entirely different feeling than before, because he was once again a part of that place. He belonged and he could call Baker Street his home again.

Drawing a shaky breath, full of untamed emotions, he at first peered over the wall on his left. The wall they leaned against and giggled hard, for what was one of the very first times. Then his sight fell upon the staircase and John couldn’t help but smile shyly, absorbing himself in the memory that just unfolded itself before his eyes. He and Sherlock, a little tipsy, falling asleep, lying in that anything but comfortable position side by side. John couldn’t remember how the hell they ended up like that, but he did his best to never forget that moment. Even though they were drunk and later that night they got arrested. John didn’t even mind.

“John?“

Sherlock’s soft voice pulled John out of his nostalgic state of mind.

“We should go upstairs,“ he suggested. “Quite frankly, I’d like to avoid meeting Mrs Hudson.“

“Wait, why do I have a feeling that she doesn’t know I am moving back in?“ John asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Because she doesn’t,“ Sherlock explained. “She doesn’t even know that you got shot and best if it stays that way. The less people are aware of what happened, the better. Now come on, I’ll help you up the stairs.“

It took them a while. Climbing up the stairs was something John realised would be a little problematic in the next few days. It didn’t hurt, the wound was completely healed after all, but it was exhausting, and, as Sherlock already pointed out, the limp was once again causing John little trouble walking. Sherlock however started panicking as soon as they reached the fourth step without even asking John why he was slowing down.

“John, you’re such an idiot, I knew you should stay in the hospital for much longer. If it still hurts it means you’re not okay yet. God, what if you’re bleeding internally, what if those _amateurs_ overlooked something, I will _sue_ them if something bad happens to you.“

John was glaring at Sherlock with utter astonishment sparkling in his eyes, corner of his mouth tugging up in a little half-smile. He saw Sherlock’s mouth moving but he didn’t hear any words, all his mind could concentrate on was the need to lean closer, erase the short gap between them and finally lock their lips together. But he didn’t do it, of course not. Sherlock probably wouldn’t forgive him this enormous mistake so easily, if at all. So he just grabbed him by his forearm and looked deep into his piercing blue eyes, soothing him down, making sure he understood that everything was alright and he didn’t have to worry about him anymore.

“Sherlock, I am fine, okay?“ he assured him, stroking his arm. “Just a bit tired, but that’s quite a standard turn of events. I am _not_ bleeding internally and I am definitely _not_ dying either so can we just move on, please?“

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but then he had to admit that his reaction was perhaps too harsh. So they continued up the stairs, Sherlock supporting John with both of his arms, eyes fixed on his face, studying his expressions, waiting for a sign that John is too tired to walk anymore but they managed to reach the platform without any further distractions.

John was about to scold at Sherlock once he opened the door for him, he considered this favour being a little over the top already but as soon as his eyes fell upon the room, he completely forgot what he was about to reproach him for. His mouth simply fell open at the sight. This wasn’t Baker Street he remembered, not at all. The sitting room itself was too neat, no piles of clutter all around, stacks of papers, notes, old books and magazines nowhere to be found, curtains were wide opened, letting the warm sunrays come through crystal clean windows. John had to pinch himself in order to make sure that he was not dreaming.

Cause Sherlock has never been a pedant man, he never bothered cleaning up unless it was because John asked him to do so perhaps. It’s been always just useless, tedious burdensomeness. Sherlock preferred the idea of organised chaos, that man has never actually minded being surrounded with nasty mess and clutter of the most random origin.

“What the hell is this supposed to mean, Sherlock?“ John asked once the younger man returned along with John’s baggage.

“I’ve been tidying up a little,“ Sherlock nonchalantly waved his hand but then his eyes twinkled up like fairy lights upon noticing John’s half-astounded, half-shocked face. “Have you seen the kitchen yet? I cleaned the fridge.“

“You-you cleaned the fridge?“ John wished he was rather sitting in the moment.

“And I bought milk,“ Sherlock grinned so proudly it made John chuckle. “There’s also a bottle or two of your favourite beer,“ he added, his brow furrowing upon trying to remember the contents of the purchase he made earlier that morning.

“Then there is a pack of vegetarian sausages, bread dumplings, blueberry sauce, I replenished the supplies of your beloved tea and cookies, I bought that body soap you used to whine about when I dared to borrow, you know – cherry blossom and wild bamboo, was it? I got it right, didn’t I? If not I can still go and get it, they’ve opened a new shop just round a corner-“

“Sherlock, that’s all great, but-“

“God, I think I forgot to buy corn crisps-“

“Sherlock, listen, I-“

“And there are no cashew nor peanuts, what are you going to munch while watching one of those ridiculous shows in the evening, I have-“

“Sherlock, _shut up_.“ John finally brought himself to clasp a hand over Sherlock’s keep jabbering mouth. Sherlock kept on staring at the other man, blinking in rapid motion as if he couldn’t quite comprehend why John decided to shush him like this.

John drew his hand back after a second, but only very reluctantly, as if he was afraid that Sherlock would start gabbling once his mouth was free again. But he didn’t. He took a deep breath and apologised instead, blushing like he was a little boy who’s done something rather inappropriate and should be ready to be reprimanded.

But John wasn’t mad at Sherlock, there was no reason at all. He was stupendously flattered and in that single moment feeling more contented he ever felt during those past months he spent with Mary. More contented than ever before actually. Even though, despite all the odds, he had to admit that he’d prefer the flat in its good old fashion.

“Sherlock, _you are amazing_ ,“ he smiled wholeheartedly.  “But if I have to be honest, I-“

“You don’t like it,“ Sherlock pouted. It was a plain statement, he didn’t even have to ask.

“Well, I guess I am just so used to all the mess that I wouldn’t even change a bit about it. It _doesn’t_ have to be changed, neither the flat, nor you, Sherlock.“ John wished he could grab and hold both of Sherlock’s hands, tackle him into a hug or even smooch his pink flushed cheek. But after Sherlock sort of rejected him twice already John figured out that he should be careful and take things very slowly.

“But wait a second,“ he glowered after giving the room another one over, “you didn’t know I was moving back in. Not until today, even _I_ wasn’t sure where I was going to end up.“

“I just hoped you would,“ Sherlock shrugged. He circled around John, tossing the bag over the sofa. “Even if I couldn’t predict that you were going to stay forever. I was just trying to-“

“What?“ John cut him off, shortening the distance between them. “Make up for something? Sherlock, I told you, there is no need, it’s not your fault that I got shot. You owe me nothing.“

“But you saved my life,“ Sherlock objected.

“And then you saved mine. So I guess that makes us even.“

“I’ve done nothing,“ Sherlock protested, heading for an opposite side of the room because John was suddenly standing too close and the conversation was leading toward the way Sherlock would rather avoid walking. “I just-I just called an ambulance.“

“Really? Then what about this?“ John tapped a finger over his lips, a hint of a shy smirk crossing his face.

Sherlock’s cheeks flushed pink, his eyes flying wide open as he stuttered through his response. “H-how do you know- you-you were unconscious.“

“Oh come on, I presume that if you didn’t perform a CPR on me, my body would be already rotting ten feet under ground.“

Sherlock shivered, he didn’t even want to imagine anything of the sort.

“Well, it was my…. duty.“ His answer was rather cold and distant, as if he was just a stranger who happened to save John’s life by a mere accident.

“Don’t worry,“ he added quickly upon noticing John’s frown, “I am sure the doctors provided you with a proper mouth disinfection.“ This attempt to ease the atmosphere again apparently worked, proof being a warm, familiar chuckle escaping John’s throat.

“Anyway,“ Sherlock cleared his throat. “I am quite frankly glad that you’re not really delighted with what I’ve done to the place,“ he glanced around the room, hands wildly gesticulating in the air.

“You already regret this, don’t you?“ John smirked.

“ _Immensely_. I miss my little havoc,“ Sherlock sighed dramatically.

“I bet you’re not going to mourn for very long. As soon as you get an interesting case on your hands you’re going to make a mess out of this room in ten seconds flat.“

“Well, actually-“

“What, you got a case?“ John’s eyes lit up with excitement, he could hardly contain himself whenever Sherlock drafted out a possibility of getting high on adrenaline again.

“Not actually a case,“ Sherlock prolapsed. “I’ve been shamelessly procrastinating in these past few days and so now I’ll have to work for days and nights straight without taking any break-“

“Sherlock, come on, what is it this time?“ John once again closed the gap between them. He was practically burning with sensation upon approaching Sherlock. “A serial killer? Gang of thugs? Glowing foxes?“

Sherlock tug his eyebrow. “No, _no_ and seriously? Glowing foxes? No, not anything like that. Besides, I doubt you are any ready for chasing criminals yet.“

“But Sherlock-“

“No, John, you can’t even climb the stairs on your own. And I already told you – it’s not a case, at least not any usual one. I am actually trailing someone… Mary.“

John’s face withered like a dead flower. Bright pink of his cheeks diffused into pale colour, gone was even the cheerful spark from his silver-blue eyes.

“I told you, you should give up on her,“ he muttered, his eyes pinned down upon his own shuffling feet.

“And _I_ told you that’s not going to happen. Look, I know what you said about me not owing you anything, but I won’t ever be at peace until she gets what she deserves.“

John sighed, he was anything but pleased with what Sherlock was planning to do, but trying to reason with him was useless. “I guess you’re right,“ he nodded at once but still avoiding Sherlock’s eyes. “Honestly, I will, feel better knowing that she’s not running freely around. Do what you must, but for God’s sake, be _careful_. Sherlock, if anything were to happen to you… God, I’ll-“

“Hey, are you okay?“ It was Sherlock who shifted even closer to John this time and just because the other man seemed to be ready to tear up any second. In that one glimmer of moment they both ached with need to take each other’s hand but both of them were under this false impression that the other one wouldn’t approve yet.

John didn’t even offer a reply, he simply forced a smile. Once he glanced up at Sherlock however, that artificial expression was gone. John nearly choked on the air he was about to inhale. Sherlock was too close, so close they both could see the ever present love and fear in each other’s eyes, so close that if they were ready to breach those walls between them their lips would be already brushing. It lasted for only a mere second however. Having quite trouble breathing, Sherlock had to take a swift step back in order to not do anything inappropriate right there and then, leaving John stand frustrated in the middle of the room.

“Well then,“ John cleared his throat, still not over the sudden loss of proximity. “I should rather… go upstairs and unpack or something.“

“Up-upstairs?“ Sherlock’s brow furrowed as if he suddenly wasn’t even aware of that the John’s room was indeed up another flight of stairs.

“Well, my room’s upstairs, Sherlock,“ John stated what should be obvious.

“But that means another set of stairs.“

“Well, obviously.“

“John, you’re missing the _point_.“

“Then enlighten me.“ John crossed his arms, risking stepping toward Sherlock again. Sherlock mirrored his position but remained standing in the spot.

“You barely made it up here, John,“ Sherlock broached. “I can’t expect from you to be descending those stairs every morning and then climbing them back up each evening, not whit that limp and pain that can return whenever you least expect it. You’re supposed to be _resting_ , not mountaineering.“

John could hardly supress an urge to laugh. “First of all, _barely_ is perhaps a bit too strong word, Sherlock and… mountaineering? Really? You should stop overreacting, it’s just a couple of bloody stairs. I’ll be one hundred percent fit in no time, I am just a tiny bit _exhausted_ , that’s not anything unusual nor life-endangering however.“

“Still,“ Sherlock decided to obstinately maintain his ground, “you should consider spending nights somewhere elsewhere. Somewhere easily accessible.“

“Like where?“ John snorted, beckoning behind self. “Sherlock, I slept once or twice there on that couch and let me tell you it’s _damn_ uncomfortable.“

“I didn’t mean the couch,“ Sherlock sheepishly bit his lip, rubbing the back of his neck. John would swear he noticed a hint of a coquettish smile upon his lips but it must’ve been his imagination because Sherlock’s expression was rather that of a shy lamb once he opened his mouth and spoke again.

“You could sleep in my bed, you know.“

No one could blame John for the way he interpreted this innocent suggestion so ambiguously. He stared at Sherlock in shock for a couple of long second, jaw dropped and palms sweating as if Sherlock just proposed to him or asked something similarly mind-bending.

“In-in your bed?“

“You mind?“

“If I _mind_?“

“John, why do you keep repeating my questions?“ Sherlock sulked. “I of course _won’t_ share the bed with you if that’s what’s terrifying you.“

“I wasn’t terrified,“ John shook his head, failing to notice the tone of mild offence in Sherlock’s voice. He still couldn’t believe what Sherlock just suggested.

“It just surprised me a bit, that’s all. If I am going to take your offer, where… where are _you_ going to sleep?“

“I told you I have plenty of work to do,“ Sherlock lazily waved his hand. “I will hardly even mull over the idea of sleeping in the course of the next few days. _If_ I’m ever going to need any sleep I am going to take a nap on this _devilishly_ uncomfortable couch or-“ Sherlock’s voice dropped low below almost inaudible volume,“ slither into your bed at worst.“

John couldn’t even begin to processing what just happened. Either Sherlock really suggested that John should stay in his bedroom until he’s feeling better or John in fact never woke up after the shooting and everything that had happened since the moment Sherlock entered his hospital room was just a part of one bizarre coma dream. Sherlock acted differently, he was kinder than usual, amiable, doing things he’s been never doing before, saying stuff that was so unlike like him that John even doubted it was still the same anti-social, arrogant man from before.

But John even had to question _himself_ , his own actions and the words he willingly said. Never before he so carelessly worn his heart on his sleeve. Reminding himself of the fact that he reached for Sherlock’s hand in public hit him all of a sudden, with full devastating force, mentally kicking out the breath of his lungs. Then again, Sherlock was the first one to take this step, he would now probably deny it, but it was _his_ hand covering John’s own when they talked to each other for the first time since the unfortunate incident. That was however, just the tip of the iceberg. They talked for several, long minutes, confessing their true feelings, at least certain fragments of feelings. John didn’t fully realise it at the moment, but it was for the very first time they had been so open with each other and it happened so unexpectedly, John didn’t even struggle as much as he thought he will during the conversation.

However, the consequences, the realisation of what they both actually admitted to feel, all weighted heavily on him with a ridiculous delay. It wasn’t until days later, now in the moment Sherlock offered him his own bedroom, it wasn’t until now that John’s mind finally clicked. It was a sluggish, tedious process but he had to admit it in the end. They were moving further, in yet undiscovered direction. The mere possibility turned John’s brain into mush. He tried to put the rest of the puzzle pieces together, but soon Sherlock’s voice once again pulled him out of this sort of emotional trance.

“John, is there something wrong?“

“No, no, _no,_ what makes you think so?“ John chuckled awkwardly, blurting out the words in fast pace.

“Well, we were talking and then you-“

“It’s nothing.“ John’s voice was a little harsh in his attempt to quickly change the subject. “I was just thinking. Wondering… where am I going to put all my clothes,“ he fibbed, shaking his head after letting out such a dumb lie.

“You can borrow one of my drawers, naturally,“ Sherlock smiled, oblivious to John’s disconcertment.

“Speaking of which, you don’t have to be bothered with the rest of your stuff. Just give me the keys and I’ll bundle up whatever else you need from your house.“

Maybe John was still a little besotted, but as soon as Sherlock mentioned the possibility of leaving the flat, he was back fully concentrated in an instant, ready to coax Sherlock out of this idea.

“Oh no, Sherlock, forget about it, you’re not going there alone,“ he warned him.

“I doubt Mary came back, John, if that’s why are you afraid of.“

“Please, Sherlock-“John pleaded, once again stepping forward to close what felt like a giant hollow abyss between them.

“You sound… worried,“ Sherlock remarked, ignoring the sudden vicinity this time.

“Well, I _am_ bloody worried,“ John cried out. “She’s out there somewhere, Sherlock, and she’s out of her mind, you _know_ it.“

“I don’t understand. I’ve already told you I am on Mary’s track and you weren’t nearly as infuriated. What are you suggesting?“ Sherlock frowned. “Am I supposed to never leave the flat? Tell Mrs Hudson to lock the two of us in here from outside and throw away the key afterwards?“

“Sherlock, stop jesting around, this is serious,“ John snarled. “I didn’t say you can’t leave the flat, I said that you’re not going to go to that house by yourself. I allowed you to do what you wish as long as you’re going to be careful. This is the right _opposite_ of being careful. Who knows what that woman is up to? She was ready to kill you, Sherlock, remember? She was aiming for your _heart,_ thank God she missed, but she didn’t hesitate for a second, she _did_ fire the bullet.“

What John felt in that moment wasn’t even rage. He was scared. Just the idea of Sherlock’s life being in danger again awakened the protector inside of him. He was ready to guard Sherlock for twenty four hours a day if there was a need. Sherlock surprisingly enough didn’t argue against him for any longer. Not this time.

“I know,“ Sherlock gasped. “I am aware of what she is capable of, John. I am not going to underestimate her ever again, don’t worry.“

“So you’re not going there?“ John sighed in relief.

“ _No_ ,“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, emphasizing the word in rather a mocking manner. “But then don’t whine when you have no more clothes to wear,“ he quipped. “Your life depends on this small pitiable bag over here, don’t forget.“

“My life depends on _you_ , you idiot,“ John uttered in half-whisper, quickly heading for the bedroom so he could finally unpack.

What he just said rendered Sherlock bewildered but as it seemed, John wasn’t even about to make a big deal out of it. Sherlock wondered if this is how their relationship’s going to look like from then on and if that was the case, then what impact it was going to have on them. He had always been absolutely convinced that John didn’t think of them as anything more than best friends and colleagues. Sherlock even used to think that John stayed around _just_ because he’s so addicted to adrenaline and danger. But then Sherlock learnt that John has been grieving for two years because of _him_ , not because of lack of criminals in his life. And then, after sacrificing his own life for him and pouring his heart out, John freaked out just because Sherlock was about to do something not even remotely dangerous. Sherlock was clueless, he had to admit. This situation he found himself in was so new and strange that not even a mind of such genius could comprehend it.

Sometimes, in that one moment particularly, it felt just like a dream. For a split second, Sherlock panicked that this was just another one of his hallucinations, that John was not in fact there, that he never came back to Baker Street and he was definitely not in Sherlock’s bedroom now, placing his own clothes next to Sherlock’s. But these vexatious thoughts were fortunately gone before they managed to scare Sherlock further.

Because John indeed _was_ there, in body and soul, Sherlock silently watched him from across the corridor through wide open door. The man was shuttling between the wardrobe and his bag placed on Sherlock’s bed, putting his neatly folded clothes into one of Sherlock’s half-empty drawers. Even from that far could Sherlock notice that soft, beautiful smile upon John’s lips as he shuffled from one place to another. This sight made Sherlock’s heart flutter, a warm, cosy feeling overtook his body. He now understood what ordinary people meant when they talked about butterflies in their stomachs. Sherlock definitely felt that way in that moment. John Watson was back in his life, back at Baker Street and Sherlock couldn’t even remember the last time he felt so blissfully happy.

Yes, there was still a lot of unspoken things between them and Mary was still posing a threat to them, but Sherlock felt like none of that mattered in that moment. He walked down the hallway, eyes pierced upon John almost as if in fear that if he looked away John would disappear like a ghost.

“That’s exactly the one I was about to lend you,“ he sniggered, pointing toward now full drawer.

“Sorry,“ John chuckled as he closed the wardrobe. “I guess I should’ve asked beforehand.“

“No, that’s fine.“ Sherlock leaned against the door frame. If John didn’t know any better he’d think that Sherlock was flirting with him once again.

“I don’t mind you taking my things into your own possession. You can do whatever you want with this room since it’s now _your_ room too.“

“Hold on, Sherlock, it’s just for a couple of days,“ John reminded him. “And don’t forget that this arrangement is completely unnecessary anyway.“

“That’s what _you_ think, John. Now,“ Sherlock clapped his hands. “What if you stopped whining and had a tea with me instead?“

“Didn’t you say you have plenty of work to do?“ John teased, not even wavering to shorten the distance between them again.

“I’ll start as soon as you have a cup of tea and a proper snack. You need it after what nasty gruels they fed you in the hospital.“

“I can’t complain, had worse in my life,“ John shrugged before passing by Sherlock and leaving the room.

Once Sherlock entered the kitchen, John was already nestled in his chair, waiting for until the other man sets on the kettle. Sherlock didn’t mind serving John; he’s always been the one to make tea anyway, John barely ever touched the kettle, if so then only to make a coffee.

As soon as the tea was ready, Sherlock crossed the room, handing off one of the mugs to John who reached for it without a word but a heart-warming smile on his face. Sherlock‘s stomach sunk once again once John’s fingers tenderly brushed his, he decided to not comment on that however. John didn’t even notice how the colour of his cheeks transmitted through all the shades of pink, although he _did_ notice and found it weird that Sherlock didn’t take a seat in front of John. Instead, he stood idly next to the arm of John’s chair, sipping from his mug and silently glaring down at the other man as if he still couldn’t believe that he’s real.

“Anything on your mind?“ John asked, his lips disappearing behind the rim of the mug afterwards.

“Nothing of concern,“ Sherlock replied. He just toyed with the notion for a second but then he wordlessly slouched down over the arm to claim a seat right next to John. The other man’s hand froze in the air as he was about to take another sip from his mug, he was ready to question Sherlock but upon seeing that tiny smile of sincerest adoration and fondness hanging upon Sherlock’s face, John simply lost the ability to speak. In that moment they needed no words however, their eyes substituted for the need of their tongues, they looked at each other in the way both of them was saving for no one else but one another. It was almost as if they could read each other’s mind this way. John didn’t even need to hear what Sherlock wanted to say, yet the younger man decided to utter the words out loud.

“Welcome home, John.“


	4. Chapter 4

That night John felt lonelier than usual. Maybe because it was the first time since the shooting he slept in such a large bed, maybe because he simply yearned for another person to share the space with him. No other person but Sherlock could fill that void however. John used to dream about the two of them sharing a bed before but never before his imagination ran as wild as that night.

The reason was plain and simple; everything in the room was reminding him of Sherlock. His smell was lingering around John, smell of vanilla and light spring breeze. It was Sherlock’s pillow John had his head laid on, Sherlock’s smooth covers and sheets, all it took for John was to close his eyes and he felt Sherlock’s presence beside him. Except of course, he wasn’t there. Sherlock was up and ready to work for the whole night, just so he could catch Mary as soon as possible. John could hear him pacing around the sitting room, occasionally talking to himself, but it was all nothing but incoherent babbling.

He wished for that Sherlock would rather give up on whatever he was doing and get some sleep instead, preferably in his own bed, but in the same time John knew that that man was never going to listen to him. Not in that case at least. Sherlock was prepared to cross the entire continent if it meant that he was going to get to Mary, he definitely wouldn’t even consider giving up on her.

So John could’ve as well simply get up and help him with his investigations, instead of trying to fall asleep perforce. He didn’t need any time to think twice. As soon as the notion crossed his mind, he kicked away the sheets and grabbed his gown, lazily hobbling toward the door afterwards.

Sherlock was still walking back and forth across the room; at first he didn’t notice that John had stepped in. But John didn’t even mind. There wasn’t anything more enjoyable than watching Sherlock while he was so entirely absorbed in work; it was truly a remarkable sight. He was on fire, possessing an immense amount of energy, like a hurricane ready to blow down everything standing in its way.

But as soon as he finally spotted John in the doorway, he stiffened in one place in utter confusion. Almost as if Sherlock forgot that John had moved back in.

“J-John? What are you doing here?“

“Well, it had been just a couple of hours, but I sort of live here, Sherlock,“ John chuckled, but then his face turned a tad more serious. “Are you… busy?“

“Yeah, yes, well… yes.“ Sherlock couldn’t avert his eyes from John, as if he was just an illusion that might fade away any second. He still needed to be reassured that what was happening wasn’t just some sort of a beautiful dream that eventually turns into a dreadful nightmare. He could _feel_ that everything was alright, as it should be, John was there with him in present, but Sherlock’s ingenious brain happened to be his enemy in that case. Just a few seconds ago his mind was full of Mary, full of plans and schemes and _revenge_ but once John entered the room it was all gone and deleted, not important. That moment Sherlock saw John standing still in front of him, his brain turned against him. Whispering, questioning, doubting, but Sherlock quickly managed to shush it down without letting his deepest worry to be shown on outside. Sherlock hadn’t told anyone about the hallucinations he had once John was shot, but since then he had to be constantly reminding himself that the people, the world around him and each of its elements were real and tangible. Descending into delirium again was one of the last things he desired to happen.

“Are you okay, Sherlock?“

Once fully perceiving, Sherlock realised that John was now standing close and glaring a little worryingly at him. He certainly didn’t want to burden the man with anymore troubles, so rather than admitting that his mind has been toying with him, Sherlock quickly turned the question against him.

“I am fine, why shouldn’t I be? It’s _you_ who should be sleeping, John,“ he pointed out, hoping that John won’t ask any more questions.

“Well, truth be told – I can’t,“ John let out a slight sigh, shoving his hands into the pockets of his gown. Sherlock managed to refrain from panicking more than necessary but he wasn’t able to cover the tone of utter dismay in his voice.

“Wait, what, why? Are you in pain? Is it your leg? Your scar? Or is it- is it my bed, are you not comfortable? Are my pillows not soft enough? I can-“

“No, Sherlock,“ John quickly cut him off, chuckling, “I am alright and your pillows are _extremely_ soft and comfortable. In fact I am a little jealous.“

“What are you talking about?“ Sherlock frowned. “Jealous?“

“Well, the bed up there is pretty small, all loose and cranky,“ John brought out, beckoning upwards. “Yours on the other hand is silk sheets and cotton covers and I can actually turn around without the entire bed creaking under me.“

“You’ve never complained before,“ Sherlock stated, tension slowly easing off his chest as the conversation flew on.

“Well, I’ve never lied in your bed either. To be quite honest, I am beginning to regret that it’s just for a few days.“

Although Sherlock wasn’t even sure if John was being serious, teasing him, or simply poking fun at him, his reply came immediately, before John was even able to recoil.

“You can stay for longer, if you want,“ he remarked, his lips crooked in a bashful smile. John was caught off in a surprise but this time he had no doubts that Sherlock let to drop a hint right in front of him, whether intentionally or not. He would lie if he said it didn’t make his heart race. They somewhat seamlessly skipped the awkward initial phase of figuring out what label suits their current relationship the best and here they were, basically flirting with each other, or at least, that’s what Sherlock seemed to be practicing at the moment. John was confused however. Not even twenty four hours had passed since they agreed on that they won’t talk about their feelings anytime soon, especially because Sherlock seemed to be reluctant to do so back then. But maybe he was just too scared and insecure. Maybe he simply wanted their relationship to progress naturally, without having to muse about it too hard. John decided to hold onto this conjecture, because it made him believe that maybe he got a chance with Sherlock after all, however small it was. For years he had been convinced that Sherlock won’t be able to reciprocate his feelings, but after all that had happened, after what Sherlock confessed, after such a drastic change in his attitude, it seemed there still was a hope after all. Besides, John had already admitted that they were moving forward, he already told Sherlock that he had always been the most important person for him, so he could have as well played along and coquet a bit, whether it turns out great or unpleasantly wrong.

“What do you mean, stay for longer?“ he trifled with a smirk, taking a step closer toward the other man.

Sherlock in the meantime seemed to wise up to the fact that John was trying to be affectionate with him. His face turned red in an instant, John once again managed to abash him that day. But even though Sherlock still wasn’t quite ready to take those final steps, he decided to not spoil anything this time. He maybe didn’t feel like engaging himself in serious conversations just yet but he also didn’t want to make an impression that he had never thought about him and John being more than just mere friends. Sherlock had done this mistake before and regretted it ever since then, he was sure that back-pedalling wasn’t what he should done this time.

If John accepted the idea of them being more intimate with each other, then it was up to Sherlock to explore and adapt to these new conditions he had been presented with. Sherlock was certain of his own feelings, up until only very recently however, he was too scared to pour them all at once out of the fear of John’s reaction. But he couldn’t simply ignore what had happened during those past ten days. John was being honest with him, more open than ever before, and even though Sherlock could hardly believe it, he had to admit that maybe John’s reaction wouldn’t be as dismissive if he learnt the entire truth. The truth about how deeply Sherlock was in love with him. Nevertheless, confessing that John meant for Sherlock the entire world was still something entirely different than saying those three significant words out loud. That was a risk Sherlock yet refused to take. He had to be absolutely sure that they both wanted the same thing and just a couple of vague signs certainly weren’t enough to convince him.

Sherlock wavered for another brief moment, but once his eyes were met with John’s and the idea of continuing what he had started suddenly didn’t sound as bad. John seemed to be willing to play along so Sherlock could’ve as well teased him a bit further, just so to find out if it was really getting serious between them or Sherlock simply read the whole situation utterly wrong.

“What I meant,“ he said, stepping forward so the distance between them had been shortened again, “is that if you’re so _fond_ of my bed, John, you can stay in my room for as long as you want. In fact, I wouldn’t mind if you moved in there permanently.“

“Really?“ Sherlock’s breath hitched once John leaned in, tip of his tongue swiftly running over his bottom lip. So John _was_ flirting with him after all, Sherlock concluded. The mere thought in Sherlock’s head sounded like a joke however. Sherlock had seen John flirting with women before, but he could never, not in a million years, hope for that John would ever try anything similar on him.

“But, Sherlock,“ John continued, “you’re a human, you _need_ sleep but you can’t sleep on the couch for the rest of your life. If I stayed in your bedroom, that means-“

“I know what that means,“ Sherlock cut him off, now standing so close to the other man their chests were almost pressed against each other’s. Neither of them flinched this time. Those few short moments of suggestive glances and ambiguity were enough for both of them to finally realise that there was in fact no reason.

“We would have to share a bed,“ Sherlock added, his eyes locked firmly upon John’s face. “Would you mind?“ The way Sherlock’s husky voice dropped so low was positively enrapturing. John was once again close from grabbing him by the shirt collar and pulling him down so to chain their lips at once but the mere sound of Sherlock’s voice, especially used in such seducing manner, made him forget how to function for a second.

Sherlock sighed, slightly disappointed, upon receiving no reply, but John fortunately quickly managed to fix the mistake he’s almost done.

“I wouldn’t, no,“ he sputtered, “Sherlock, no, I wouldn’t mind.“

“Oh-“ Sherlock’s face at first lightened up as bright as if he just stumbled upon the most interesting case in the history but that spark was gone in an instant his mind reminded him of details he should’ve remembered in the first place. “Well, obviously,“ he gasped, “you were in army. I reckon you’ve already slept with men so you must be quite used to it-“ Sherlock wished he phrased that sentence differently, but once he already let the words slip out it was too late to take them back.

John’s reply came surprisingly fast. He didn’t even seem to be taken aback by Sherlock’s straightforwardness. “Yes,“ he nodded, eyes still on Sherlock’s face. His heart was beating so frantically, almost as if it was soon about to rip out of his chest. “I had shared a bed with many men before. But not in the context you’re thinking of. Not with all of them at least.“

“How would you know what I am thinking of?“ Sherlock squinted. What started as an innocent game suddenly turned into a far more serious debate.

“Sherlock, come on-“ John leaned even closer, his voice soft, merely a whisper. He noticed how Sherlock crouched down a little so the height difference was minimal, how his breathing quickened once there was basically no distance between them anymore. Sherlock’s face from this close was ethereally gorgeous. Even in the light as mild as the room had been filled with, John could have marvelled over the beauty that was radiating from the other man. He was well aware of that what he was about to say might disrupt the moment and draw a gap between them again, but he decided to take the risk again, whatever the cost.

“It sounded like you were trying to figure out-“

“If you’ve ever been with a man?“ Sherlock interjected before John managed to finish his sentence. “Ridiculous. Why would I ask, John? I just… slipped.“ The truth was that Sherlock had rarely ever dwelled over the possibility of John being in a relationship with a man before they met. It was one of those reasons why he had never before believed that John could develop any deeper feelings for him. He had seen him acting like a flirt whenever in the presence of women, but he had never noticed such behaviour if men were involved. One of the greatest observers had overlooked what was right in front of his eyes, just because he was at first so convinced that John being in a relationship with a man, and therefore Sherlock himself, was a matter of pure fantasy. There were certain signs, Sherlock couldn’t deny. But since John had never been particularly open about such things, Sherlock never knew if those hints were of any significance. As it turned out, they were. And the moment it occurred to him, Sherlock immediately changed his mind about brushing off this subject, he needed to learn more. Even though he couldn’t be sure if John was ready to answer such delicate questions.

“Fine then, let’s say, that I asked you on purpose. Would you-“

“Admit it?“ John had to take a moment to consider. Sherlock just dead straight asked him if he was attracted to men. When John got out of the bed, he could only hardly guess that he was going to be confronted with questions about his sexuality just a few minutes later. None of the topics Sherlock could’ve broached were more awkward to discuss than this one. John had been always trying to choke the truth inside of him, out of the sheer fear of what might happen if people learn one day. He had been denying that he was gay for decades, but never saying he was not into men at all, because that simply wasn’t true. And then he met Sherlock, Sherlock who turned his world upside down, with whom John eventually fell in love, and hiding his true face was suddenly even more difficult than before. But John was far too scared of unrevealing himself back then. There wasn’t a reason anyway; at least he thought so. Sherlock appeared to be stone cold, unsociable man not capable of developing romantic feelings for anyone not least another man. That had however changed and John was very well aware of that Sherlock was a completely different person. And so lying to his face once they were so close from finally tumbling those walls between them was unacceptable, John had to tell him the truth, it was only fair and the right thing to do. This was nothing he should’ve kept on postponing.

“Yes, Sherlock,“ he said at once, his voice shaking a little, “I would admit it. I wouldn’t- I’ve never actually- Oh, fuck this, yes for God’s sake, I _am_ into men. But if you want to hear about my past relations, -“

“No, no, I don’t, you don’t have to- God, John-“ Sherlock this time simply had to take a step back. He didn’t even dare to look John in the eyes once there was a room between them again.  

“John, I guess we’ve gone too-too far,“ he stammered.

“T-too far? What are you talking about?“ John felt like his heart was stabbed with the sharpest knife. He finally braced himself to confess what he had thought he was going to keep hidden forever but instead of feeling relieved he was confused. Sherlock suddenly seemed to regret that he had to learn the truth.

“Sherlock, I just told you-“

“I know, I am sorry, John, I shouldn’t have asked you about that,“ Sherlock apologised, panic in his eyes as clear as in his breathy voice.

“No, you idiot, you bloody _should_ have,“ John exclaimed. “In fact, I was supposed to tell you long ago, but… Jesus, do you have any idea how hard it is to live like this? In this fear that people will learn about your secret?“

“As a matter of fact, yes, I do,“ Sherlock retorted. “And I understand that this must’ve been a huge leap for you. I just-I am not sure how to react.“

“Sherlock, it’s _you_ who asked and now you’re not sure what to do? “John sniffed, his jaw clenching in uneasiness.

Sherlock glanced at him from across the room. “I have to admit… I didn’t expect you’re going to be so open. I guess… I guess that I just need a little time to process it,“ he said at last.

“Don’t tell me you’ve never had a clue, Sherlock. _You_ , of all people.“

“Of course I had… I wasn’t sure, no, but… that’s not what I need to think about, John,“ Sherlock uttered, returning back to his desk.

“That’s… all you’re going to say?“

“John, please-“

“Fine, as you wish,“ John shrugged in capitulation. “If you don’t want to talk about it,then I have no right pushing you. Do you want me to leave you alone?“

Sherlock offered no reply, but there wasn’t even a need, John understood. He wavered for just a couple of moments before he turned around and headed for the bedroom, leaving Sherlock alone with his mixed thoughts and feelings.

 

***

As soon as John woke up the next morning he was prepared to discuss what happened the previous night but once he shuffled into the sitting room, he found nothing apart from Sherlock’s laptop left open on the table. It seemed that the man was nowhere around flat, no matter how many times John called for him, Sherlock didn’t show up.

Under any other circumstances, John wouldn’t worry that bad. Sherlock used to disappear from time to time, without a word and sometimes even for hours. But considering that Mary was still out there, free and extremely dangerous, John would feel more at peace if Sherlock at least informed him what he was up to.

Much to his relief, he didn’t even have to send Sherlock a text and then wait for a reply, anxious if he was even going to receive one. Sherlock soon appeared in the doorway, but John’s initial delight turned immediately into shock once his gaze fell upon Sherlock’s face. He looked awful, his hair tousled, clothes dirty and wrinkled and ugly bags under his weary eyes, but that wasn’t what made John worried the most. Sherlock’s face was cut on several places, the worst cut being the one on his forehead and another long narrow slit on his cheek.

“Sherlock, what the bloody hell is _this_ supposed to mean?“ John roared, putting his hands on his waist.

“Calm down, John,“ Sherlock waved his hand. “Just a few minor scrapes, no big deal,“ he shrugged, shedding off his coat and scarf.

“No-no big deal? What happened? Didn’t I tell you to be careful if you’re going- where even you’ve been?“

“Too many questions at once, John,“ Sherlock sighed, circling around John so he could sink down on the couch. John followed him, determined to receive answers.

“Sherlock, come on, tell me what happened.“

“Nothing you should be concerned about.“

“Really? I don’t think so, look at your face. Jesus, those wounds need to be disinfected.“ Sherlock snorted in protest but John was already on his way to the bathroom. He returned a few moments later with a small first-aid box in his hand.

“This is completely unnecessary, John. I’ve already cleaned-“

“Shut up-“ John snapped him, rummaging about on his search for disinfectant and sterile cotton balls.

“You don’t have to do this. You’re supposed to be resting, John, you’ve got shot remember?“

“ _Chest_ , Sherlock. My hands work perfectly.“ Once John had prepared all he needed to clean Sherlock’s skin, he poured a few drops of solution onto the cotton ball and then carefully applied it to the cut on Sherlock’s cheek to sterilize it.

“John, it’s just a-ouch. It stings,“ Sherlock pouted, frantically rubbing his fingers over the small wound.

“Stop scratching it, you’re going to contaminate- Christ, you’re acting like a bloody child.“

“I told you it’s not necessary.“

“I am a doctor, Sherlock. Let _me_ decide, okay? So are you finally going to tell me what happened or not?“

“Fine… if I must,“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, leaving out another tiny whimper. “First of all, it’s hardly my fault there was a window in my way.“

“A _window_? What is that supposed to mean?“ John frowned, replacing the cotton ball with a new, clear one.

“Well, I didn’t do this to myself on purpose, obviously. That man I was chasing tricked me and I had to change the route. If I wanted to get to him in time there was no other option but to crash through the window so I could cut his way-“

“Hold on a second,“ John piped up, mouth hanging open. “You _crashed_ through the window? And what man are you talking about?“

“Mary’s confederate,“ Sherlock sighed as theatrically as if it was supposed to be obvious.

John scowled, his hand freezing in the air. “Mary’s confederate?“

“Yes, one of her closest ones. She needs someone to cover her back, someone she can trust, John,“ Sherlock explained. “I’ve left her far too much time to run, she can be practically anywhere, doesn’t even have to be in London anymore. That’s why I put my snoopers in charge. They were supposed to be spying on this man, who I thought will lead me straight to her.“

John’s expression didn’t change. All Sherlock could read from his face was how deeply he was worried about him. Nothing that would suggest he cared at least a little about Mary nor her allies.

“I got a call at night, not so long after you went back to sleep,“ Sherlock continued upon receiving no reaction from John. His doctor simply kept on listening to him in silence while ever so carefully cleaning his wounds.

“I didn’t mean to go after him in the dead of the night, especially not after such a conversation we’ve had, John. But since he was about to get on the midnight train and escape, there was no other choice.“

For the first time John avoided Sherlock’s eyes, simply because the brief mention of what happened between them. But instead of changing the subject he rather combed Sherlock’s curls off his forehead so he could sterilize the last remaining wound on his face.

“Were you any lucky?“ he asked, his voice so soft and warm that Sherlock felt he could melt if he was listening to it for too long.

“No,“ Sherlock replied sadly. “Once I got to him he unfortunately detected me and then ran away. I didn’t catch him so I couldn’t have interrogated him.“

“So you imitated James Bond for nothing,“ John attempted to flash Sherlock a smile but his lips tugged into rather a tense crook instead.

“Bond was on a motorbike, John,“ Sherlock objected, hissing under his breath once John applied a plaster on his forehead.

“You remember it?“

“You insisted on watching it, John.“

“But don’t you delete unimportant stuff?“

“Well, but you like him, so- ah, be gentle, please.“

“I’ve never been gentler,“ John chuckled once he was finally done applying patches over Sherlock’s face.

“There you go,“ he smiled, cupping Sherlock’s cheek, his thumb brushing over the place he’s just sealed. Sherlock closed his eyes, committing himself to John’s warm touch, touch that made him feel so loved and protected. But it also made him remember what they both seemed to be reluctant to talk about. Even though Sherlock was well aware of that their future depended on whether they decide to discuss the subject or not. So after a moment of consideration, he allowed himself to take a deep breath in order to encourage himself before speaking up.

“I am sorry, John.“

“What? What are you sorry for?“ John scowled, withdrawing his hand.

“For all of this, but for yesterday in particular.“

“Sherlock, there’s-there’s really no need to apologise. I was-“

“No, let me, John,“ Sherlock insisted, fiddling with his fingers.  He jumped off the couch, roaming around the room as he kept on talking in a bit sharpish manner. “I was supposed to support you, not ruin everything again. I am an idiot, I admit that you surprised me a bit with your frankness, but still… what I’ve done was _ridiculous_. I acted as a complete moron despite it was _me_ who made you confess that you’re... you know what.“

“ _Bisexual_ , you don’t have to restrain from saying it, Sherlock.“ John ignored the shivers crawling down his spine upon uttering the word. He was more concerned about the fact that Sherlock, who was constantly swallowing in nervousness, might faint any second. John wasn’t sure how he was supposed to soothe him without crossing a barrier Sherlock wasn’t prepared for yet, but leaving him to deal with this situation on his own was out of the question. So John stretched out his hands, his voice soft and smooth as he reached for Sherlock.

“Come here.“

Sherlock at first didn’t seem to comprehend what was John asking for. Once John called upon him the second time however, he stepped forward, faltering as he let the other man to take a hold of both of his wrists. Sherlock had gone weak at his knees as soon as John’s thumbs rubbed circles over the back of his hands. Small, appeasing circles that made Sherlock’s heart flutter. John pulled him back down on the couch, not letting go off Sherlock’s hands even once they were seated next to each other again.

“So… it’s okay?“ Sherlock asked, sheepish smile on his face.

“More than okay, Sherlock,“ John assured him. “I am glad I came out,“ he smiled contentedly. “I am not going to pretend… it was one of the toughest decisions I’ve ever made and yes, I expected a tad different reaction, but it was all worth it, Sherlock, I was tired of concealing. Don’t you dare to think that you’ve ruined the moment, not for a second. I’ve been thinking about this for the whole night and I understand that you needed time to process this information. Look at _me_ ; I still can’t believe I’ve done this.“

“Me neither, if I have to be honest,“ Sherlock tittered. “But I told you, that’s not what I needed to think about.“

“Then what-“

“ _Us_ , John,“ Sherlock breathed out, then pursed his lips. “Once you… came out, that moment was a big eye-opener for me. Not because the fact that you are attracted to man would be _that_ much of a shocking revelation, but you know, it made me realise something very important. At first I thought I will have to hoard more evidence to convince me but as it turns out none of that is needed anymore. John, it’s all going to be different from now on, don’t you think?“

“Different?“ John raised eyebrow in disbelief.

 “You mean that, me coming out will have an impact on… what is between us?“

“Of course,“ Sherlock nodded. “It was _your_ choice to tell me the truth. _Me_ , of all people. That’s why I panicked a little, you see where I am going with this? John, maybe I am wrong- don’t look at me like that, please-“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, “but since we’re now so open with each other- “

Sherlock didn’t have a chance to finish what he intended to. He had been disturbed by Mrs Hudson who just breezed into the room with the biggest grin on her face and a tea tray in her hands.

“Oh my, boys,“ she giggled, seemingly not even surprised by John’s presence nor Sherlock’s face covered in plasters. “You should’ve locked the doors if you were-“

“For God’s sake, Mrs Hudson-“ Sherlock fumed, heat building up in his cheeks as he quickly jerked away from John who was as equally red in his face. Mrs Hudson managed to interrupt them in the worst moment imaginable.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed, my dear,“ she shook her head, placing the tray on the stool next to John’s chair. Both Sherlock and John sincerely hoped she was just about to turn around and leave but once Mrs Hudson was done serving Sherlock his morning cup of tea she simply couldn’t resist bantering a little.

“I don’t mean to meddle, boys,“ she chortled, “but oh, you can’t even imagine how happy I am for you.“

“We appreciate it,“ Sherlock retorted but Mrs Hudson kept on jabbering as if she didn’t even notice that mild sarcasm in his voice.

“I’ve always knew you two had a thing for each other,“ she giggled, her eyes filled with glee. “Oh, John, I am sorry your marriage didn’t work out, but you do have to admit that Sherlock is the one you belong to,“ she addressed the older of the men but despite the words she said, she sounded like she wasn’t sorry at all. In fact Mrs Hudson seemed to be glad that John and Mary parted ways, even though she had no idea what horrible events preceded this separation.

“Who-who told you about me and Mary?“ John frowned, crossing his arms.

“Oi, John,“ Mrs Hudson snorted. “I wasn’t born yesterday. You are an honourable, loyal man, you wouldn’t spend a night with Sherl-“

“Hold on, oh God, I didn’t sleep with Sherlock,“ John exclaimed but then immediately turned to the other man to make sure that Sherlock didn’t take it the wrong way.  Fortunately, he returned the glance along with a tiny half-smile upon his lips.

“Sure, John, sure,“ Mrs Hudson chuckled, already on her way out. But before she left, she quickly turned in the doorway, eyes briskly flicking from John to Sherlock, joyful grin still not disappearing from her face.

“I am going to cook you both your favourite lunch meal to celebrate your reunion,“ she added.

“What the hell was _that_?“ John sulked once Mrs Hudson finally left them alone. “How come she knew about Mary?“

“Never underestimate Mrs Hudson, John, she is much smarter she looks like,“ Sherlock replied, leaning back against the cushion. “But I am sure she is not aware of the real reason behind your break up, don’t worry, no one told her.“

“Sherlock, she stormed in and didn’t even ask why I am here in the first place,“ John remarked. “She simply _assumed_ that I live here.“

“Well, she wasn’t wrong, was she?“ Sherlock giggled but then his smiled turned upside down once again. “But I reckon that Mrs Hudson is not what you want to talk about right now?“ he asked, fists clenching in anticipation of what was inevitable to come.

“No, of-of course not,“ John shook his head, shifting closer to Sherlock who in the meantime did the same.

“What did you want to tell me?“ he could have suspected what Sherlock was about to say before they were interrupted but he needed to hear those words from _him_.

“Well, John,“ Sherlock started, his cheeks turning pink again. He spoke slowly, carefully picking out each single word. “Since you’ve already confessed to me, I think it’s time to ask ourselves -oh God, this is difficult-where are we… heading with our relationship?“

“Where do _you_ think we’re heading, Sherlock?“ John asked, his voice cracking as he spoke. He couldn’t even believe they were having that conversation.

“I don’t know, that’s the problem,“ Sherlock lamented. “I am clueless, John. I’ve never been in this position before. I think- I guess we’ve reached a certain point in our relationship… I mean, I can’t be sure, I just feel like I am no longer able to hide how I _truly_ feel about you. I was keeping it for myself, safely locked inside, just because I thought you wouldn’t be able to feel the same, John. But then you told me the entire truth, you came out and yeah, I freaked out because … what I thought was never meant to happen was suddenly very close and possible from becoming reality and frankly, I can only hardly believe it. “

John was dangerously close to hyperventilating upon hearing the words Sherlock just said. He still had doubts, back in the hospital, even the day before, he was absolutely convinced that them being more than mere friends was out of the realm of possibilities. But it was the time to accept the truth and fight the unreasonable fear of rejection. John had finally realised, in a blissful relief, that Sherlock was not being so reserved because he didn’t want him, but just because he was so afraid of dismissal, just like John. Sherlock simply needed a time, a lot of time, to think through and carefully plan each next move in order to not break what took so long to be built.

But John couldn’t blame him. He wasn’t able to be open about his feelings either, they were both scared of each other’s reaction, both were just dancing around one another for years without knowing, without willing to take the risk. Up until then at least. Sherlock seemed to be ready to reveal everything, right then and then.

“So you think that the two of us could-“

“I said I don’t know,“ Sherlock shrugged, his voice a tad more fretful he intended it to sound, eyes fixed on his twitching fingers instead of John. “I am not sure if you can imagine us being a-a couple, cause frankly, I myself can still only hardly believe that it could be possible. I just don’t want to keep hiding the truth from you. I’ve realised it too late, after wasting one opportunity after another. John, what I wanted to say on the tarmac-“

“Sh-sherlock-“ John’s voice shivered as he leaned even closer to Sherlock, one of his hands covering both of Sherlock’s trembling hands, the other one he gently passed underneath Sherlock’s chin so he could tilt up his head and look into his glassy, yet still heavenly beautiful eyes.

“John-,“ Sherlock sniffed. “I’ve never felt like this before, _no one_ in my whole entire life had ever made me feel as alive and cherished like you do. John… Mary didn’t miss my heart once she fired the bullet. She pierced right _through_ it. I know it sounds pathetic, dull even… stupid sentiment. But that’s how I feel, John. When you were dying in my arms, I was dying along with you, because I thought I am going to lose you forever and I simply can’t imagine my life without you, John, I-“

“God, you don’t have to.“ John cradled Sherlock’s face, tenderly pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s.

“Sherlock, I am never going to leave you, no one, _nothing_ will ever draw as apart again,“ he sobbed in a half-whisper, directly against Sherlock’s parted lips. Neither of them noticed when the tears started rolling down their cheeks.

Sherlock opened his mouth a couple of times so he could finish what he had started, but once John so fairly brushed his wet cheeks he was suddenly short of words, his eyes fluttering shut and mouth falling open in a silent gasp. He had imagined this moment countless of times before, but the reality felt much better than any of the fantasies he could have ever come up with. But John was waiting, patiently, not making a move until Sherlock let him. No matter how intense had been the urge to finally take that lush bottom lip in between his own lips, he refused to do something Sherlock wouldn’t approve of at first.

It wasn’t until Sherlock slowly tilted his head to the side, not until he let out a broken ‘John’ out of his throat, not until then John dared to close the remaining gap between them. The very moment he pressed his lips against Sherlock’s, he had been overwhelmed with emotions of all diverse kinds - relief, anticipation, _love_ , thrill, but he couldn’t find the right word to describe the way Sherlock’s lips felt against his own. They were full, pliant, tasting better than any other lips John had kissed before and even though Sherlock was mostly stiffen, barely reacting, their very first kiss was perfect just like that. Because it was just them and nothing standing in their way anymore, their special moment, brains switched off, just their hearts hammering wildly in their chests commanding their actions. The world froze around them, time flowing forward as slow and peacefully as snowflakes fluttering down from the sky and stayed like that for as long as John kept his lips pressed firmly against Sherlock’s.

Sherlock was afraid that sooner or later the moment would fade and he was going to wake up from this dream but even after John pulled back from the kiss, he was still there, still cupping his cheeks, breathing hot and heavy against his mouth. It was such a sensational feeling, both the kiss and those few moments afterwards, even though it was more of a long lasting peck than a proper kiss. Nevertheless, Sherlock felt like he was about to leap off the coach and float in the sky, like the fluffiest, happiest cloud under the sun. No moment could’ve been more convenient to say the words Sherlock was so afraid of uttering before.

“I love you, John.“

John almost choked on the air he was about to inhale once Sherlock cooed against his lips. Those few simple words were echoing in his ears like a chant, over and over again, never piping down.

“I know that I made it seem like I don’t care about us,“ Sherlock whispered, not leaving John a chance to react. “But that was just because I care _too_ much, John. The reason why I didn’t want to talk about our future even once you were already home was that I was just so scared, yes, I _was_ , John. I simply needed to be sure that it’s going to be okay, I needed to give it a free flow, I needed a _sign_ that once I am going to tell you-“

“Shhh-“ John gently folded a finger over Sherlock’s lips so to shush him down. “I understand. You don’t have to explain, Sherlock,“ he smiled through the tears. “I know why you were so hesitant to make a move.“

“Really?“

“Why of course,“ John nodded, a chuckle escaping his throat. He simply couldn’t contain the joy he felt in the moment. “It took me an awful lot of time to realise but better later than never, hm? We’re finally _there_ , Sherlock. We’ve wasted _so_ much time acting like idiots, let’s just forget about the past for good, shall we?“

“So, our lives _are_ going to change after all,“ Sherlock remarked, but John shook his head in a silent disagreement.

“Nothing’s going to change, Sherlock.“

“What do you mean?“ Sherlock scowled in confusion. “I thought that we’re-“

“That we’re going to be a couple?“ John raised an eyebrow. “Oh, Sherlock, but we already _are._ We’ve always been,“ he sighed, pressing his forehead against Sherlock’s once again. “I’ve been a bull for lying to myself, for denying-God, Sherlock, I-“

“Don’t feel obliged to say that you love me just because I’ve already confessed my love to you,“ Sherlock cut him off. “I know how difficult it must be for you. As you said once, we don’t need to hurry anywhere.“

“But I _do_ want to say it,“ John objected, stroking Sherlock’s cheek with the back of his hand.

“I know, I _feel_ it, John. I felt it once you kissed me,“ Sherlock smiled shyly, tracing a finger over his own lips. “It was…  God, I can’t even describe it, John. I’ve never experienced anything similar before, I am out of words to be honest.“

“Then maybe we should stop talking, don’t you think?“ John smirked, angling his face so he could lock their lips again. Sherlock smiled into the kiss, this time reaching up to cup John’s cheeks instead of leaving his hands lie idle. John could only hardly mind that Sherlock appeared to be such an unpractised kisser. Maybe he was a little clumsy, not opening his mouth enough and he definitely didn’t know how to use his tongue properly but he was kissing back with such unbelievable passion and love that John simply had no heart breaking the kiss to teach him how to do it better. Besides, he didn’t even care actually. He was kissing Sherlock; Sherlock who’s just told him he loves him, Sherlock whose lips John yearned to taste since the moment he laid his eyes upon them for the first time.

They had plenty of time to get used to each other under all these new circumstances.  John had been prepared to guide Sherlock through this new stage of their relationship, however long they needed to adapt.

“Sherlock, wait, wait-“ John giggled once drawing back an inch. Sherlock was smiling so hard against his lips that it was simply useless to keep pretending that what they were doing was actually kissing.

“What’s wrong?“ Sherlock’s nose crinkled, “am I that terrible kisser?“

“You’re not _terrible_ , Sherlock. I assume you’re just too happy,“ he chuckled, bumping Sherlock’s nose.

“Well, John, we were kissing, _kissing_ , of course I am bloody happy.“ Sherlock was literally beaming, smiling from ear to ear, such joy and light in his eyes that John had never seen there before. Even though his face was patched all over the place, he was gorgeous, adorable even, John had to admit.

“Oh, Sherlock,“ he said softly, reaching for Sherlock’s hand. “I wish we haven’t wasted so much time. We could’ve had this-“

“No, John,“ Sherlock  cut him short, gently rubbing his thumb over the back of John’s hand. “Didn’t you say we should forget about the past? We have all the time in the world, don’t we? We have the present, the future, it’s all ours. You were right, we should bury the past forever and simply enjoy what we have together now.“

John opened his mouth to agree, but decided against it in the end. No words were needed. He simply smiled at Sherlock, heart-warming smile of sincerest adoration, before he leaned in for another messy but nonetheless perfect kiss.


	5. Chapter 5

“Isn’t it crazy?“ Sherlock uttered once they were sitting on the couch in the evening, finishing their dinner.

“What exactly you’re pointing at?“ John frowned, passing the last piece of broccoli into his mouth. Sherlock had barely said a word since their takeout arrived and so John could hardly even guess what was going through the detective’s mind.

“Well, yesterday we’ve agreed on that we’re not ready to talk about our feelings just yet… and look where we are today, John. “

“Don’t you dare to tell me we’ve gone too far too fast.“

“No, of course not,“ Sherlock snorted, putting aside his empty plate. “But it feels rather strange to be honest,“ he remarked. “We’ve spent the entire day together, in a way I could’ve only hoped for before today. And yet, you were right, John, it felt as if nothing’s even changed, it felt odd but so right in the same time.“

“Yeah, it was quite a day,“ John sighed in bliss, staring off into the empty space as if he was replaying the memories in his head.

They merely moved a foot from each other. Neither of them broached the subject of Mary since the morning, they barely even talked actually. They giggled and laughed together instead, occasionally sharing pecks, but never anything that would have felt too forced, they already got used to brushing each other’s hands but touched in no way that could have been a step over. They didn’t even kiss properly yet, but John didn’t even mind. He felt that it was perhaps too soon for overly passionate make out sessions anyway.

John didn’t notice when Sherlock got up from the couch but once he snapped out of daydreaming he realised that the other man was no longer sitting beside him. Sherlock had grabbed the plates and cutlery and took them to the kitchen so he could clean them. John followed him, not even considering maintaining a reasonable distance between them as he stepped closer. He put a hand on Sherlock’s upper waist and stroked gently while Sherlock was busy rinsing his plate.

“There’s something we haven’t discussed yet,“ Sherlock piped out after a while, scrubbing at what was left of the tomato sauce.

“Is it?“ John scowled, his hand freezing over the small of Sherlock’s back.

“Yeah. You know how we were joking about sharing a bed last night-“

“Sherlock, I wouldn’t say we were actually _joking_ ,“ John chuckled.

“No, but we weren’t quite serious either, were we?“

“Where are you going with this?“

“Well,“ Sherlock turned off the water, leaving the rest of the dishes lying untouched in the sink. “You do realise that tonight we’re about to sleep by each other’s side, right?“ he turned to John with a suggestive, yet still a shy smile. “ _Sleep._ In _bed_ , John. _Together._ “

“Oh- t-tonight already?“ John rubbed the back of his neck. “I thought-I thought you were going to spend a night working on Mary’s case.“

“I can’t believe I am going to say this,“ Sherlock sighed, “but I can only hardly concentrate on work tonight. Especially after all that had happen… you still don’t mind, do you?“

“Of course not,“ John shook his head. “I am just surprised you brought this up. Wouldn’t it be easier if we simply crawled into the bed and dozed off without having to talk about it?“

“Yeah, I guess you’re right, I am sorry. I just needed to make sure you haven’t changed your mind.“

“Sherlock, come on,“ John snorted, pulling the other man closer by his waist. “That’s never going to happen. I am _never_ going to change my mind about you nor will I ever regret the decisions I made in relation to you. You get that? I want this. I want _you_ with all your perfect imperfections and I want us to be a couple we’ve always meant to be. So hell no, of course I won’t mind sleeping by your side, Sherlock, I’ll be _delighted_. I know this is the sort of sentimental cliché neither of us is very fond but I want your beautiful face to be the first thing I see tomorrow morning and I want to remember that moment till the rest of my life.“

“Did you just-“ Sherlock gasped, blinking and opening his mouth like a confused little boy who’s just seen a magic trick for the very first time.

“You think I am… _b-beautiful_?“

John had never seen anyone’s cheeks turning so pink so fast. Sherlock’s face softened around all the edges, like it was about to melt into a puddle.

“Of course you are,“ John grinned, planting a tiny smooch over the one of Sherlock’s cheeks that wasn’t injured.

“I should’ve told you sooner. Much sooner, Sherlock. I should’ve told you how astonishingly beautiful you are, how I love your gorgeous eyes of such mesmerizing colour that I can’t even find a proper word to describe them. How alluring is the idea of kissing these plump, voluptuous, _irresistible_ lips,“ John’s voice dipped low into a rough half-whisper as he gripped Sherlock’s neck from behind and slowly leaned in for a kiss. Rather a desperate whimper escaped Sherlock’s throat once John attempted to deepen the kiss despite knowing that Sherlock had no idea what to do.

It lasted for only a couple of seconds. John pulled back as soon as he realised that Sherlock was still trying too hard and in a way that was anything but the right one.

“I am so sorry, John,“ Sherlock sighed, head bowing down. “I must be the worst kisser in the world.“

“Nonsense, Sherlock. You just need a little practice, that’s all.“

“But what if I am never going to be good enough? What if you get tired of kissing me one day, hm? What if-“

“What if you just shut up?“ John laughed. “I told you, I am never going to leave you. Not even if you really _were_ the worst kisser that had ever walked this Earth…Now, I guess we should call it a day, don’t you think?“ he added, already on his way towards the bedroom.

“Yeah, I’ll be right there.“

John didn’t even have to ask what Sherlock was up to. Once he changed into his nightwear and sank into the bed he noticed that Sherlock entered the bathroom and about a minute later he could hear the water running. John lied there in the bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling ashamed of himself and those naughty thoughts that’s just invaded his mind. The fact that Sherlock was showering right there in the room behind the wall had aroused him in such a way that he had to start wondering when and even _if_ they were about to ever had sex together. John had to admit that he probably wouldn’t even mind if Sherlock needed months or even years to take this very last step. He was determined to taboo this subject however, until they _really_ got used to each other as a proper couple at least.

Sherlock clearly didn’t plan on wasting too much time because not even five minutes after turning on the water he was already drying himself.

The moment John turned over to settle into a more comfortable position, the bathroom door were opened in front of his eyes and Sherlock stepped into the room, nothing but a towel loosely wrapped around his waist, his skin glistening in the dim light. John forgot how to breathe for a second. He had seen Sherlock like this before, half-naked, bare chested, his hair ruffled but never before it was Sherlock fresh out of the shower, droplets of water still dripping down his marble-like body. John had to admit that he looked even more beautiful than before.

He was about to pronounce this notion out loud but as soon as Sherlock crossed the room, apparently not even realising that John was already in the bed, the words John wanted to say got trapped inside of his throat and all he could let out was a single broken gasp of horror.

Sherlock had not realised soon enough that showing off his body like that wasn’t probably the wisest idea considering that John had not seen his scarred back yet. Mentally cursing himself for making such a stupid mistake, he risked a glance behind his shoulder, only to see that John still didn’t manage to close his mouth yet.

“Sherlock, w-why is your back covered in scars?“

“God, John,“ Sherlock pursed his lips, turning around. “Don’t panic, I can explain.“

“Well, you better _do_ explain. Come here.“

“L-like this?“ Sherlock swallowed. “I am in a _towel._ “

“Come to the bed, Sherlock, _please_ ,“ John pleaded but Sherlock stood idly, averting his eyes.

“Fine, but- once I tell you what happened - promise me you won’t get mad,“ he said at last in a shallow whisper. John nodded but quite reluctantly, he couldn’t promise Sherlock anything until he learnt the truth. After a moment of hesitation, Sherlock climbed into the bed, clinging on the towel around his waist so it wouldn’t fall off.

“Turn over,“ John requested once Sherlock settled himself on the mattress. His eyes welled up as soon as he could see those hideous scars from that close. It was a devastating sight. John wasn’t even sure if he wanted to know what tools were used to mark Sherlock like this.

“Who did this to you?“ John’s voice was calm. Gravelly and raw, filled with sorrow, yet creepily calm.

“Doesn’t matter. They’ve already paid the prize,“ Sherlock uttered, shivering once John gently trailed a finger down his spine.

“Yeah? I bet they didn’t suffer as much as I would make them, Sherlock. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?“

“It’s not a memory I enjoy coming back to, John.“

“Wait,“ John’s mind suddenly clicked in a horrible realisation. “The torture you’ve been talking about without knowing I am listening… is this the-“

“Yes, John.“

“But that means this must’ve had happen while you’ve been faking your death. So when I pushed you down on the floor in that bloody restaurant-“ John’s voice cracked with sudden flush of remorse and hurt.

“Jesus, Sherlock, I am so sorry, I didn’t know, I would’ve never-“

“No, John, there is no need to apologise,“ Sherlock objected. “You had every right to react the way you did. It’s actually my fault that this had happened. “

“Sherlock, whatever it is you’ve been through, if you have told me what you were planning to do, I would’ve gone with you, I would’ve protected you-“

“Out of the question,“ Sherlock rumbled, turning over his shoulder. “There’s _no_ way I would have let you go with me. Why do you think I didn’t let you know in the first place? It was _too_ dangerous. John, I needed to destroy Moriarty’s network, his impact had reached a colossal dimension. I had been travelling all over the Europe and Eastern Asia, tearing his web apart and I’ve been quite successful until… until they caught me in Serbia. That is where they beat me up and cut me and burnt me-“

Sherlock sobbed, his entire body quivered at the mere thought. He felt so vulnerable at sudden, as if his torturer was meant to burst into the room any second to cause him more pain. Not even John’s hands stroking down his bare arms helped to soothe him down.

John had already regretted the decision to ask Sherlock about his scars. The man was so distraught and shaken that it was surprise he didn’t burst into the tears yet.

“Sherlock, it’s okay now, you don’t have to go into details.“ John pressed himself against Sherlock’s back, placing a small chaste peck over his nape.

“So you don’t want to know-?“

“No,“ he sniffed. “I don’t want to hear about what horrific things those monsters done to you. I am afraid I would have to get up to find and kill them one by one if they’re still alive.“

“John-“

“Shh,“ John left another peck, this time over Sherlock’s shoulder. “Come now. Lie down and don’t think about it anymore. I don’t want from you to relive those dark moments, so please, try to forget about it now and gets some sleep. You desperately need it and don’t you dare to protest. For how long have you’ve been neglecting sleep?“

“Forty seven hours and sixteen minutes I estimate,“ Sherlock mumbled.

“You see? Christ, you’re not a robot. Now, get rid of that towel and get under the blanket.“

“Wait- am I not going to make you feel uncomfortable if I am going to-?“

 John gave him a telling look, cutting him short before Sherlock was able to finish his question.

“Don’t you always sleep naked?“

“Yeah, but-“

“ _I don’t mind_ , so please lie down already,“ he asked once more, switching off the lamp so all the light had faded away. Sherlock wavered for a second, but then he pulled the towel off his waist and tossed it over the chair, immediately shuffling under the duvet and close to John. They were lying face to face; John reached for Sherlock’s hand and brushed ever so tenderly, singing an inaudible lullaby that eventually brought a serene sleep upon Sherlock’s soul. He couldn’t help but smile once Sherlock dozed off. Even though John himself had barely slept one wink last night, rather than falling asleep he wanted to relish those precious moments, store them in his mind so he could come back to them whenever he pleased. But soon even the doctor himself had to close his eyes in weariness, drifting off to sleep without knowing he wasn’t going to rest for very long.

 

***

Sherlock jerked up in horror, panting heavily, his heart pounding fast in his chest and cold sweat running down his back in drops. He couldn’t see a thing, all he heard were distant shrieks in his head and people cackling at him, beating him in ribs and face, sharpening their blades and hooks and preparing the chains to tie him up. Sherlock groped in the air, trying to figure out where he was, but he couldn’t see through the darkness, his memory didn’t serve either. He was incapacitated with pain, withering, excruciating pain, as if the wounds on his back were opening again, bleeding out, killing him slowly.

“ _Sherlock-“_

The room had been filled with vivid light but Sherlock shut his eyes tightly and clasped hands over his ears, rocking back and forth on the bed in tears that streamed down his face. But he still could see the images in his head, didn’t matter how hard he tried to close his eyes. Someone picked a glowing iron rod to burn down a mark onto his back; people’s faces were blurred but he could tell that what they were holding in hands were rusted hooks, scissors and knives, prepared to sink and crawl down into his flesh as if he was just a worthless piece of meat.

Then suddenly he felt a touch, a real, warm touch against his cold skin, but instead of feeling relieved he screamed, not realising if out loud or not. Now there was no doubt in his mind that he was locked up in the Serbian basement again, with a minimal chance of surviving. And this time there was no brother to save his life.

“ _Sherlock, please, look at me-“_

Sherlock could barely hear the soft tiny voice that tried to reach him. Those creepy voices inside of his head were too loud and everything felt too dark and grim for him to be able to focus on it. But then the grip around his torso tightened and Sherlock realised that someone was embracing him in his arms, hugging him, not trying to tie him.

“Sherlock, it was just a nightmare, look at me, _look at me_ , _please_ , it’s alright now, I got you-“

The voice grew louder and stronger all of a sudden. Sherlock could see the pictures in his mind disappearing, fading into the blackness. Even the noises in his ears had clammed up at once. Once he fully perceived he finally dared opening his eyes only to realise that he was miles afar from Serbia, safely at Baker Street in the arms of the man he loved.

“John-“

“Jesus, you scared the hell out of me,“ John breathed out, “I thought-“ he was cut short once Sherlock tossed his arms over his shoulders, pulling him into even a tighter hug. John decided to ask no questions once Sherlock nuzzled against him, burying his face against the crook of his neck. He embraced him, letting him cry on his shoulder. John ran his hand up and down Sherlock’s sweaty back, soothing him, calming him down, making sure his breathing was soon about to return to normal.

“Shhh, it’s alright, it was just a bad dream, Sherlock, it’s all over. I am here,“ he whispered softly, petting Sherlock’s hair with his other hand. But Sherlock was crying even louder than before, sobbing and snivelling, tears bursting out his eyes and damping John’s t-shirt. John couldn’t prevent his own eyes from welling up, hearing Sherlock weeping like that was simply heart-wrenching.

“J-John, they-they were ab-about to-“

“Please don’t, Sherlock,“ John sniffed. “Just don’t think about it, _please_.“

Sherlock didn’t say another word. He squeezed on the back of John’s shirt so tight that he could rip it apart, but neither of them cared. Sherlock simply needed to _feel_ John as close as possible, to make sure that he was not just one another hallucination or a part of his twisted dream.

They stayed snuggled in each other’s arms for a couple of long minutes, in silence punctuated by nothing but the sounds of them crying. As soon as Sherlock finally came back to himself, John pulled back a little and cradled his face, placing a fair kiss over his forehead and another one over the temple of his head.

“Are you feeling better?“

“I-I…I don’t think so,“ Sherlock sighed heavily, his voice hoarse and raw. “Can you-John, can you hold me, please?“

“But- I am already holding you, Sherlock.“

“I-I mean once we-once we lie down again. Could you hold me in your arms tonight, John? I need to-I need to feel you beside me.“

“Oh God, Sherlock, come here.“ Once John lied back on the mattress Sherlock curled up against him, laying his head upon his chest and placing his arm over John’s torso. John didn’t even realise that Sherlock was in fact naked under the blanket, not even after Sherlock tossed his left leg over John’s legs in order to be as close to him as possible. No such inappropriate thoughts have crossed his mind this time. He circled his arms around Sherlock’s body, keeping him safe and protected and soon they both fell asleep like that, this time not opening their eyes until the sun rose above the horizon.

 

As soon as Sherlock woke up the next morning he was about to sneak out of the bed as quietly as possible, but he didn’t even manage to lift his head up from John’s chest; the other man had been already awoken as it seemed.

“Stay please,“ John murmured, eyes still closed and breathing as peacefully as if he was still asleep.

“Are you sure?“ Sherlock whispered sheepishly. “This is rather… _awkward_ , John.“

“You don’t have to be ashamed just because you had a nightmare, Sherlock.“ John pulled the other man closer, drawing a gasp out of Sherlock’s throat. “I hope you had no more bad dreams at night. Do you feel better now?“ he asked, glaring at Sherlock from under now half-opened lashes.

“Yeah… I do,“ Sherlock nodded, propping himself up on his elbow. “Thank you. For being there with me,“ he added, his voice much softer than a while ago. “If you weren’t by my side… I don’t know, I would have probably gone nuts. It was… terrifying.“

“I was worried about you,“ John said, raising up a little and mirroring Sherlock’s position. “I am so glad you’re okay, you can’t even imagine,“ he smiled, brushing the lock of messy curls off Sherlock’s forehead.

“Yes, me too,“ Sherlock cleared his throat. “But still… when I said _awkward_ , I didn’t actually mean last night, John.“

“Then what were you talking about?“ John scowled.

“John-“ Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Can’t you _feel_?“

“Feel what?“

Sherlock sighed in annoyance. He hoped he wouldn’t have to demonstrate but John left him no choice. Sherlock had been pressed against John’s side for the entire night and he didn’t move an inch in the morning, so once he carefully wiggled his hips against him, John could finally catch on. Which is to say, he actually gasped out loud, a noise such close to a moan that Sherlock had to bit his tongue in order to not let out a similar sound.

“Oh, so-“ he wetted his dry lips, ignoring the heat building up in his groin and his own hardening cock. “That’s-that’s alright, Sherlock, no need to be ashamed. It’s pretty normal. Morning erection-actually proper term should be nocturnal penile-“

“John, let’s not embarrass ourselves any further, please.“

“I told you, you don’t have to be embarrassed, Sherlock,“ John uttered in rather a serious tone, but then suddenly he found the whole situation so amusingly bizarre that he couldn’t prevent a snigger from escaping his throat.

“Why are you laughing?“ Sherlock pouted, grabbing the nearest pillow so he could punch John over his shoulder.

“I am sorry,“ John guffawed, but he proceeded to tease Sherlock more. “I just can’t believe we’re seriously leading a conversation about your morning wood.“ He received another soft punch, this time right into his face.

“Sherlock, that’s enough, stop,“ he giggled, pushing Sherlock down against the bed, pinning his wrists above his head.

“You started,“ Sherlock whined, but his lips were spread into the brightest smile.

“And I’ll be the one to end this... Can I kiss you?“ John bit his lip, already leaning down.

“I am glad you’re asking because I didn’t brush my teeth yet so the answer is no,“ Sherlock chuckled, sticking his tongue out.

“Pfff,“ John snorted. “Bad morning breath is hardly a thing that will stop me from kissing you,“ he snickered, locking their lips in a languish kiss. Once John realised that Sherlock was really trying to get better this time, he pulled back an inch, murmuring against his lips.

“Open your mouth more.“

Sherlock happily obeyed, prepared to listen to each advice John could give him in order to make them both feel as good as possible.

“Oh, God, yes, like that,“ John growled against Sherlock’s lips, which was both arousing and concerning, considering how hard Sherlock already was. Thankfully, there was a duvet in between their bodies and Sherlock’s cock still safely covered from John’s sight. Sherlock was sure he wouldn’t last for very long if that wasn’t the case and that was something he wanted to prevent from happening.

“More tongue, Sherlock,“ John mumbled in between the kisses, now lying on top of Sherlock, cupping his cheeks and sucking on his lower lip. The way he moaned against Sherlock’s mouth after their tongues finally rolled against each other’s was positively sinful. Sherlock let John to take the lead, to guide him, to _teach_ him first and foremost. He could feel that he wasn’t quite brilliant yet (he was far from it), but he was getting a tad better at least and John seemed to enjoy it.

As soon as they gave into a messy deep kiss however, full of teeth, clumsy tongues and accidental lip biting on Sherlock’s side, Sherlock’s eyes flew wide open in sudden worry. He quickly turned them over, playfully rolling over the sheets until he was the one on top.

“Very sorry, John,“ he panted, trying to tangle himself in a sheet without leaving a room for John to see anything he wasn’t supposed to yet.

“I am afraid I have to-“

“You don’t have to apologise… nor explain,“ John laughed. “Just go, take care of yourself.“

“ _Take care of yourself_ -“ Sherlock parroted, shuffling out of the bed with nothing but a thin layer of cloth loosely wrapped around his body.

“Ahem-John?“ he turned around once already in the doorway, smirking teasingly. “Don't worry, I want the same thing you do. _All of it_ … whatever is that supposed to involve. I just-“

“Not yet, I understand, Sherlock,“ John smiled at him. “Now go already. And don’t you dare to think about anyone but me,“ he added in a mock-serious tone, receiving half-outrageous, half-amused glance from Sherlock.


	6. Chapter 6

Three weeks have passed since the moment John kissed Sherlock for the first time. Saying those days were the happiest in their whole lives would be an underestimation. Each night they slept in a tight embrace, each morning they woke up facing each other and smiling into a drowsy kiss. They had not passed beyond that point however, not yet. John had never even tried to do anything even remotely inappropriate, nothing Sherlock wouldn’t approve of at first.

It was difficult however. But not because John wasn’t willing to wait for them to get even more intimate with each other for as long as there was a need. What they’ve had so far was more than enough, more than he could’ve wished for a month ago, but the truth was that Sherlock wasn’t making the waiting any bearable. Even though he decided to wear at least pants into the bed in order to prevent any awkward accidents and because of still feeling rather shy and insecure, he didn’t care that much about decency when it came to different parts of his body.

Whenever he wore a shirt unbuttoned almost half the way down, exposing his pale, milky-skinned neck, John couldn’t help but _stare_. Whether he was doing it intentionally or not, he successfully managed to turn John into a snarky little ball of utter sexual frustration. John wondered if he was, by any chance, doing it all on purpose because he was almost sure that Sherlock head never worn _such_ tight trousers that would fit him so well. Sometimes he wore nothing but trousers, once even jeans and nothing else. He was promenading around the flat shirtless, nonchalantly showing off his muscular torso and arms but John had never figured out what could’ve been the purpose other than drive him mad. Never again they mentioned the scars on Sherlock’s back. John felt guilty for that he even asked all those weeks ago, because he was sure that that was the reason why Sherlock had a nightmare that night.

They didn’t talk about Mary either. Sherlock mentioned her on several occasions but in no other relations than how to hunt her down. He was getting closer to her, but she was still a step ahead of him, each time he thought he was about to catch her she simply slipped through his fingers like a gust. John didn’t seem to care however, he would be actually glad if Sherlock finally gave up on her and engaged himself in a proper case, he didn’t have a one in months.

And so on the morning when Sherlock left the bed unusually early, John decided to finally talk him around a bit. Unfortunately, Sherlock seemed to be quite obnoxiously moody that day, John didn’t even managed to utter a word of what he wanted to discuss. Besides, it seemed that for the first time since the shooting, Mary decided to remind them of herself, or at least, that’s what Sherlock was convinced of once he opened his mailbox.

 

“ _Unbelievable_ ,“ Sherlock snorted, pressing the keys with much more force than necessary.

“What’s wrong?“ John lazily shuffled out of the bedroom with a sleepy yawn. Wearing nothing but a buttoned-down shirt and pants, he headed straight toward Sherlock who sat in front of the laptop in the sitting room – fingers intertwined under his chin, eyes focused on the screen, his mind working at full pelt. As soon as John approached him, he encircled his arm around Sherlock’s shoulders, pecking his ruffled mess of hairs.

“I just got a mail,“ Sherlock snarled.

“And so _that_ ’s why are you so angry?“

“I am not _angry_ , John, I am- look,“ he pointed at the screen, his open mailbox in particular. John squinted, eyes briskly flicking over the text but it seemed to be just a nonsensical strophe of random words.

“Spam,“ he shrugged but Sherlock gave him quite an annoyed look.

“This is not a _spam_ , John, my inbox is _full_ of it.“

“Well, I am not an expert, but isn’t that the definition of spam, Sherlock?“ John chuckled but noticing that frown upon Sherlock’s face he gave up trying to lighten up the mood. “Oh, why are you so grumpy? It’s just a stupid message. Unless you got a secret admirer then-“

“You don’t understand, John,“ Sherlock sighed exasperatedly. “I think someone is sending me those on purpose but definitely _not_ because they’d fancy me.“

“ _Someone_? Sounds you already have a suspect, who?“ John frowned.

Sherlock wavered a second before answering. “Mary.“

“M-Mary?“ John blinked confusedly. “Why the hell would Mary send you a bad cheesy poem?“

“Not a _poem_ John,“ Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Read it again, please, _carefully_ this time.“

John set his teeth but what he wouldn’t do for Sherlock. He bent over his shoulder again, this time closer to him, so their cheeks were almost pressed against each other’s.

“I am sorry, Sherlock, but it still makes no sense to me,“ John shook his head once he was done reading the second time.

“Oh, come on, John,“ Sherlock growled. “It’s a complex _anagram_. There’s a message hidden in there, can’t you see?“

“Well… no. But okay, if _you_ say so… then what does it mean, hm?“

Sherlock didn’t hesitate answering this time, even though he had hoped that John would have figured it out by himself.

“ _I will burn the heart out of you_ ,“ he uttered, emphasising each word, his voice as gloomy as if there was nothing but darkness and venom behind that simple phrase. “Ring any bells?“

Sherlock didn’t even have to ask. As soon as he said those words, John’s face turned pale, his jaw clenching. “But those are-those are Moriarty’s words, Sherlock,“ he breathed out disbelievingly.

“No one else had heard those words. No one but the three of us. We were _alone_ at that pool, Sherlock.“

“No, we weren’t, “ Sherlock objected. “What about the snipers, John?“

“What about them?“ John scowled, breathing a little heavily. “You just said you think that Mary was the one who sent you this and now-“  John’s voice halted once he managed to put the pieces together.

“Sherlock-“

“Yes, John,“ Sherlock nodded, pronouncing out loud what had been going through John’s head. “Mary was one of the snipers at the pool.“

“That can’t be-“ John gasped, slouching down on Sherlock’s lap in shock. “Are you trying to tell me that-“

“Yes, she worked for Moriarty, John. In fact, she was sort of his _right hand_ , but - correct me if I am wrong, John - you’ve already heard about this, haven’t you?“

“Y-yes, but... truth be told after all that had happened I completely forgot - w-why didn’t you tell me about the pool?“ John felt betrayed for a second.

“You seemed to not care about her anymore,“ Sherlock protested. “You even advised me to give up on her, remember? I thought you wouldn’t care about this little detail either.“

“Little detail?“ John raised an eyebrow. “This is _huge_ , Sherlock.“

“I am sorry, okay? I am just not sure if you’re prepared to hear the worst about her,“ Sherlock said.

“I am not sure either-“ John hissed, rising up. “But then again, what can be worse than lying about your true identity, faking a pregnancy and threating- no, actually trying to _kill_ the man I love?“

“Trust me, she is capable of _far_ more,“ Sherlock replied, ignoring the hot flush building up in his face once John mentioned the word ‘love’.

“But the good news is that that _person_ is no longer bounded to you at least,“ he added in an attempt to cast a little light upon the subject.

“What-what do you mean?“ John scowled at him. “We didn’t even manage to divorce, Sherlock.“

“Mycroft,“ Sherlock shrugged. John needed no more explanations. Sherlock’s brother was surely powerful enough to execute a divorce even if neither of the spouses were present.

“Well then, I am glad,“ John uttered once he calmed down. “Truth be told, I’d rather not hear a word about her ever again, Sherlock but fine… let’s go back to the point, let’s say you’re right about those mails… What are you-what are we going to do about this?“ John asked, tightly wrapping his arms over Sherlock’s shoulders again.

“I don’t know,“ Sherlock sighed, shutting the laptop. “Seems like Mary decided to toy with me in a very childish way… if I do say so myself. She knows I am after her but she’s also aware of that I _can’t_ get to her, no matter how hard I try.  So she’s laughing right at my face. If I am right and this is her who’s threating me- no of course it’s _her_ , who else-“

“Then we should probably contact Mycroft,“ John suggested, speaking over Sherlock. “What if she’s plotting against you? What if she set her goal to kill you?“

“I am afraid that might be the case… It seems you’ve changed your mind pretty fast,“ Sherlock remarked. “Few minutes ago those mails were just a spam.“

“After what I’ve just learnt? Of course I’ve changed my mind,“ John replied. “I know how dangerous she is, Sherlock. If she’s really sending you threats, then we should be even more careful than before and inform your brother as soon as possible.“

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,“ Sherlock nodded in agreement although he was anything but pleased with the idea of dragging his brother into that mess again. “You’re not worried about me that much, are you, John?“ he asked once noticing how John’s grip around his shoulders tightened even more.

John offered no answer at first. He leaned down and pressed a sweet loving kiss over his cheek. “I am constantly worried about you,“ he whispered. “Don’t you dare to do anything that could result in your death, you sod, okay?“

“I would never do that to you, again,“ Sherlock turned to the other man, meeting his lips for a brief moment. “But that doesn’t mean I am done pursuing her, John,“ he mumbled once pulling back.

“Sherlock,“ John exhaled, “I told you _so_ many times – you don’t have to risk so much, you don’t owe me _anything_. Are you not willing to listen to me even if your life’s at stake? What even is the point of going after her? This is not a game anymore.“

“I know but I _love you_ ,“ Sherlock said, piercing his eyes upon John who didn’t seem to comprehend what was that confession supposed to do with anything so Sherlock continued. “Once you found out about my scars you said you would kill those who did it to me. I wanted to do the same to Mary, but… then I’ve realised that she is not going to suffer enough that way. I want to see her _rot_ in the prison, she deserves it after what she’s done to you.“

There was something dark and mischievous in Sherlock’s eyes, something that would startle John if he didn’t know the man better. He cradled Sherlock’s face, gently brushing his cheeks, before planting a kiss over his forehead.

“God, you are the bravest but the most bloody _adamant_ person I’ve ever met.“

“Maybe, but I am doing this for _you_ , John,“ Sherlock said softly. “For us. I won’t let her destroy what we have and the only way to achieve that is to catch her before she finds a way to disappear or worse – before she decides to hurt us first. A scenario more likely to happen. I assume she blames me for that she shot you, John. I saw it in her eyes, she was _terrified_ once she realised she hit _you_ instead of me. But I couldn’t have predicted she’d be _so_ obsessed with the idea of killing me. God, John, we can’t let her run free even if she decided to not go against me in this very moment. She could turn up any day in the future to finish what she had started and get n between us again.“

“I know, I know,“ John sighed. “So what? Are we going to call Mycroft?“

“Yes. But first-“ Sherlock pursed his lip as he leaned in for a peck. “I feel like I should make up for leaving you alone in the bed this morning,“ he muttered under his breath. “Let’s hope ten minutes of kissing won’t cost us our lives,“ he tittered, raising up from the chair and putting his hands on John’s waist as he gently pushed him further into the room.

John immediately slipped his tongue in between Sherlock’s lips, tracing a line over his teeth, swirling around and rubbing against Sherlock’s warm tongue and so creating a delicious friction. Sherlock had already learnt the art of kissing, much to John’s and his own please and delight. It took him a lot of time but John eventually managed to teach him, show him some tricks and guide him through the process of learning.

They waddled across the room, arms wrapped around each other, mouth on mouth in a fevered kiss, tripping over their own feet before John whirled them around and pushed Sherlock against the wall, for what was the very first time actually. Neither of them had any idea how did they get there, but to say any of them minded would be a blatant lie.

“Hey, w-wait-“ Sherlock panted, breaking the kiss which resulted in a disappointed groan leaving John’s throat. “I just realised… Is that-is that my shirt you’re wearing?“

“Sorry,“ John chuckled, his voice breathy and filled with impatience. “I sort of… ran out of clean shirts of mine.“

“Why are you apologising? It’s… _sexy_.“ John noticed that Sherlock’s pupils dilated so much his eyes suddenly appeared to be dark black like a night instead of bright electric blue. Those same eyes glided up and down John’s sturdy body, slowly, hungrily, savouring the view. John felt like Sherlock was mentally undressing him that way.

“S-sexy you say?“ he grinned, licking his lips. They had never got so far as to actually make out properly, not while Sherlock was pinned up against the wall at least. Those past three weeks maybe were full of kisses and tongues exploring each other’s mouths, but more often than not, it was all still rather chaste and innocent and before Sherlock learnt the magic, also awkwardly clumsy. They maybe got heated up from time to time but each time it lasted for only a brief moment, without a promise of anything more happening just yet. Up until that day as it seemed.

John stole one more kiss from Sherlock’s lips before he decided that it was finally the right time to try something new and so once pulling back from his mouth he kissed his chin and then licked up his jawline, his tongue tasting the smooth salty skin, leaving a wet trace behind before he reached Sherlock’s ear.

“I hope you don’t mind, Sherlock.“ His voice dropped low, a husky, rough whisper into Sherlock’s ear that made his heart race.

“If I did… I-I wouldn’t let you,“ Sherlock gasped once John pressed his body against him, holding him steadily by his hips.

“So can I do this?“ John sniggered naughtily, keeping his voice deep before he leaned even closer, taking Sherlock’s lobe in between his thin lips. The sound Sherlock just made was clearly an attempt to utter John’s name but once John tenderly chewed on the skin, it melted like a chocolate into a kind of moan he would be embarrassed of if his mind wasn’t completely shut off.

“Mmm, you like that?“ Sherlock was seemingly not capable of breathing out words, so he just frantically nodded in response, urging John to continue. And so John did. He nipped and only very gently suckled on the lobe before he let the tip of his tongue to tickle the sensitive skin behind Sherlock’s ear.

“What about _this_ ,“ he purred, leaving a hot huff of breath against Sherlock’s skin as he ghosted with his lips down over the side of his neck.

“Kiss me, John, _please_.“ Sherlock’s voice was desperately vehement. John wasn’t used to Sherlock begging for _anything_ , but he didn’t need to be told twice. He had been yearning to do these things to him for too long and now Sherlock was finally there, willingly offering his marvellous body on a silver plate. John couldn’t think of a moment in his life when he would be more aroused. Sherlock was like a drug John craved for but couldn’t get until now. He was _addicted_ to him, drawn to him like a moth to the flame, wanting him, needing to protect and love him.

As soon as Sherlock impatiently whimpered to prompt him, he perceived, leaving an open-mouthed kiss over his throat. Once the sensitive skin vibrated beneath his lips John could only hardly prevent a moan from escaping his throat.

“Jesus, Sherlock, you have no idea-“ he licked a stripe up and down Sherlock’s pale neck, then kissed once again before taking a pause and pressing his mouth under his chin.

“I’ve been waiting ages for this,“ John murmured against the skin, planting tiny kisses all over Sherlock’s throat.

“I would have let you-anytime, John-“

Something dark had been awoken inside of John once Sherlock’s raspy voice resonated in his ear. He was about to ask if he could continue but the lust he saw there in Sherlock’s eyes were enough of an answer. So he leaned back in and without making a sound he started sucking on the soft skin, but only tenderly, so tenderly as if his mouth was a petal floating on the water.

Sherlock didn’t even realise when he did close his eyes or when exactly did he stop caring about the sounds that were leaving his mouth. All he was aware of was that John’s mouth was doing such things he couldn’t have even imagined before. Within a glimpse of a second he forgot about both Mary and the suspicious messages he had received. The only thing that mattered in the moment was him and John and John’s strong hands keeping him boxed against the surface, his teeth grazing on his skin.

Sherlock had no idea what to do with his hands at first but then he followed his instincts and let them fall over the small of John’s back, pulling the other man even closer. John snickered against his neck, now sucking with a tad more force and passion until he left the skin bruised and wet with saliva. He managed to ignore the fact that his hardening cock had been pressed against Sherlock’s thigh and nothing but few layers of clothes were separating them.

“John-“

“Shh,“ John cooed, gently pecking the dark purple spot on Sherlock’s neck.

“Sh-Sherlock-“ he panted, “if I knew what an impact this was going to have on you, I would-“ John was cut short once Sherlock cupped his face and leaned down to claim his lips. He pulled back too soon for John’s taste, but kept his lips hovering close to John’s, breathing the air he was exhaling.

“God, John,“ he growled, such a sound that was nothing like the usual velvet, mellow colour of his voice. It was a sharp tone, a voice gravelly and thick with myriad of emotions but _need_ in particular. John had never before felt as affected by a mere sound as in that single moment. He had trouble finding the right words to describe Sherlock’s voice however. Usually it rumbled deep like a thunder with an enormous ferocity and strength, sometimes on the other hand, his voice resembled a sea - calm, peaceful, blending with the blue sky on the horizon. This time however there was something new about it, something strangely mysterious, yet sexier than ever before. John could listen to that voice until drawing his last breath, but the temptation to chain their lips again was suddenly far more alluring.

As soon as he locked their lips however, Sherlock’s phone beeped in the pocket of his jacket and such positively charged moment was irretrievably gone.

“What the-why are you picking it?“ John groaned not even trying to cover the disappointment in his voice.

“That’s a mail, John,“ Sherlock replied but avoided John’s eyes, since feeling a little guilty for disrupting the atmosphere. “Three mails in fact. She’s not done yet as it seems.“

“Well, she could’ve waited at least five bloody minutes,“ John seethed, his fist clenching.

“John, the devil never sleeps,“ Sherlock uttered, eyes locked upon the screen. “I was wrong… we can’t waste any more time.“ As soon as his phone beeped once more, Sherlock dialled up Mycroft’s number and a half an hour later the three of them were seated in the sitting room, sipping the tea Mrs Hudson just brought. Sherlock had to put a scarf around his neck in order to not reveal the hickey John gave him, but his brother didn’t even seem to be questioning it.

“Quite intriguing,“ Mycroft remarked, studying thoroughly the words Sherlock presented him with.

“What a shocking revelation,“ Sherlock scoffed, rolling his eyes. “I had hoped you would provide a more thoughtful analysis, brother.“

“And what for?“ Mycroft turned to him, sneering. “From what I can gather you’ve already figured out what all these messages in fact mean, so frankly… I have no slightest idea what on Earth I am doing here.“

“We need your help,“ John uttered quickly, noticing how Sherlock opened is mouth to deliver another witty line. Besides, it would take him forever to admit that he was in need of his brother’s helping hand again.

“Well, I am afraid my hands are tied in this case, John,“ Mycroft said. “I have no idea where is Mrs Morstan hiding or what she’s planning.“

“She’s clearly planning to kill me,“ Sherlock hissed, strolling around the room. “Or… hurt me at least.“

“But why would she wait for over a month?“ Mycroft inquired. “Why not going after you since the start? Sherlock, it makes no sense if I have to be honest. Why would she run and hide for weeks if-“

“She likes to play games, just like _you_ ,“ Sherlock cut him off, sinking into his chair with a touch of theatricality. “Maybe she needed to get prepared, I don’t know. Maybe she wanted to give me time to get… happy so then she could take that happiness away from me… Yes, that’s it, of course!“ he cried out, triumphal yet a bitter smile on his face once he sprang up from his chair back on his feet.

“That message says it _all_. She wants to destroy me the same way Moriarty wanted to. By going after my heart, my happiness. She wants to _crush_ it and set it on fire so it would hurt the worst.“

“And how exactly she is supposed to achieve that?“ Mycroft frowned, slowly losing the track.

“Well, obviously, she won’t go after John,“ Sherlock said, his voice calmer once his eyes were met with John’s. One look, one glimmer of expressions was enough for Sherlock to realise that John didn’t want from him to discuss the topic of the two of them being a couple in front of other people, not least Mycroft. Not yet anyway. So Sherlock avoided mentioning that part.

“She will simply try to take me away from him,“ he shrugged sadly. “Whether she will attempt to kill me or she will at first torture me physically - well, I am not sure. All I know is that she had already started.“

“And yet you’re still willing to go after her,“ John sighed deeply, his voice filled with worry. “Why do I have a feeling that you two are trying to beat one another in this twisted game of who will get the other one killed first?“

“I don’t want her _dead_ , I told you, John,“ Sherlock protested.

“Sherlock, come on,“ John raised from the chair, approaching Sherlock but keeping the reasonable distance since Mycroft was still present. “You know very well that I don’t want her to be free as much as you don’t but… don’t you think it’s time to retreat? I know that trying to reason with you is pretty much useless but for a thousandth time – _please_ , stop chasing the people that were in contact with her, stop trying to gather information by interrogating dangerous thugs or whoever are those people. It leads nowhere. She either runs away or she has such a good cover that you’re never going to find her anyway. You know very well that I’ve never liked this idea of you trying to get to Mary on your own. I’ve agreed only because you promised me to be careful and that was before I’ve learnt about those threats. Sherlock, what if you simply accepted that-“

“That she had won?“ Sherlock scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. “ _Unacceptable_.“

“She _won’t_ win until she has you dead and that is never going to happen, Sherlock,“ John objected, taking a few steps closer to him. “Think rationally. If she wants to kill you, you should stop making it any easier for her. _Think_ , please, you are extremely good at it. Even if you would finally find her one day, what would happen? You think she wouldn’t be prepared? You said she knows that you are trying to get to her. Sherlock, please, I am asking you one last time - give up on pursuing her, forget about this… revenge or whatever it is that’s driving you right into the devil’s snare, hm?“

John thought he was about to fall on deaf ears as usual, but much to his surprise, Sherlock seemed to be seriously taking his advices into consideration.

“But if I gave up… who else would take care of her? Someone has to,“ he pointed out, trifling with his fingers behind his back. “We can’t contact police in this case, John and I told you – there is _no way_ we can let her run free. Especially not since she poses such a threat again.“

“Well, but that’s why we called upon your brother, didn’t we?“ John smiled, relieved that Sherlock finally decided to listen to him. He turned around toward Mycroft who was purposefully looking the other way.

“I am still not sure what do you expect from me,“ he squinted. “Am I supposed to take Sherlock’s place and start investigating on my own?“

“You should stop acting like a git, for starters,“ John retorted. He heard Sherlock choking back a chuckle once Mycroft’s brow furrowed in umrabge.

“You two were made for each other,“ Mycroft snorted under his breath.

“Sorry, what did you say?“

“Nothing,“ he faked a smile. “But I am afraid _you_ two have to start talking if we are to move anywhere. Do you want me to secure you a safe place to hide? Or hire a couple of bodyguards? You want from me to find Mary and place her in the prison so you can watch and enjoy the view? Maybe she won’t attempt to kill _me_ once I get to her.“

“We want no strangers around the flat. Don’t you remember what happened the last time you shared our secrets with other people?“ Sherlock pouted, ignoring the unnecessarily sarcastic remarks of his brother. “And I _refuse_ to leave Baker Street, I am not a coward.“

“No, you’re just an idiot,“ John snorted, rolling his eyes.

“John, I’ve already agreed on that I won’t be trying to get closer to Mary anymore,“ Sherlock reminded him, acting as if he’s just made a some sort of a horrible sacrifice. “I’ve dealt with far worse criminals than Mary. Never before I had to hide like a rat and trust me, Mary is not the first person who’d ever threatened me. So don’t you dare to insist that we should leave our home just because that… _witch_ is after me.“

“Sherlock, just because you’re done making your way into a trap… God, that doesn’t mean you’re safe,“ John uttered. “Think about all those messages. She clearly wants you dead, whatever the cost.“

“This is ridiculous, completely and utterly _ridiculous_ ,“ Sherlock whined although knowing that it would be much easier for all of them if he simply admitted that that John was right. “You two are _overreacting_. You expect that Mary would shot me in the middle of a street if I dared to leave my burrow? She doesn’t work like that, I am not as endangered as you think.“

 “I am dealing with a stubborn child here,“ Mycroft growled. “But fine, as you wish. What if I suggested that you and Dr Watson would stay _here_ until Mary was put behind the bars? Bear in mind that you wouldn’t be able to leave this place anyway… until it’d be safe again at least. Sherlock, we’re doing this for your own safety.“

“Hmm,“ Sherlock ran a thumb over his lips as if he was in a deep thought. “So we couldn’t leave Baker Street until you and your men got rid of Mary, right? Means we’re going to be stuck in here forever,“ Sherlock quipped, getting elbowed in ribs by John right afterwards.

“What was that for?“ he mewled, scowling at John.

“Sherlock, trust your brother,“ John demanded. “His people are going to find Mary in a no matter of time, don’t worry.“

“Yes, we will,“ Mycroft nodded, fingers drumming over the handle of his umbrella. “Now I wonder why you didn’t contact me sooner. It would have saved us a lot of trouble.“

“I had a very personal reason for going after Mary by myself this time,“ Sherlock uttered, shoving hands into his pockets. “And I would gladly finish what I had started if it wasn’t for that she began sending me threats. I am not so scared of her but since John is _so_ worried-“

“Always _him_ , isn’t it?“ Mycroft smirked knowingly, as if John wasn’t even there in the room. “Well, at least you two will have no problem to entertainingly occupy yourself while being locked up in here alone for God knows how long.“

“W-what is that supposed to mean?“ John stepped in, crossing arms over his chest in a passive-aggressive stance.

“John, please,“ Mycroft sniggered. “You two smitten pigeons should learn to not look at each other like you’re about to devour each other’s lips, especially not in the presence of other people. It’s _disgustingly_ sweet. Besides, John, that shirt is evidently not your size and Sherlock? Scarf around your neck? Pretty _transparent_.“

John opened his mouth a few times but he couldn’t come up with any words to contradict Mycroft’s. He’d love to stop denying that he and Sherlock were now a couple but in the same he still didn’t feel like coming out in front of everyone at once. He needed much more time to take that step. So in order to not accidentally hurt Sherlock he rather stayed quiet. Mycroft seemed to be well aware of the truth anyway.

“What about- what about Mrs Hudson?“ he asked instead in an attempt to quickly change the subject.

“Well, she won’t be around, naturally,“ Mycroft replied. “I’d suggest her to pay a visit to her sister. Without letting her know what is the reason behind, of course… “ he added once already reaching for the exit.

 

***

 

“Ridiculous.“

“Twenty six.“

“ _Twenty six_?“ Sherlock stiffened in confusion, mid-way towards the bed.

“That’s how many times you’ve uttered the word ‘ _ridiculous_ ’ today,“ John explained, not even lifting up his gaze from the book he was reading. Once Sherlock shuffled under the duvet however, he tightly wrapped his limbs all around John’s body and so John had to put the book aside on the nightstand, knowing that trying to read under such conditions would be useless.

“I am amazed that you’ve been counting,“ Sherlock snorted, placing his head over John’s shoulder, nuzzling against the fabric of his shirt like he was a cat.

“Sherlock, you’ve hardly uttered another word,“ John said reproachfully. “Either you’ve been whining or you spend the rest of the time cursing your brother.“ He passed his arm underneath Sherlock so he could embrace him and put his hand over the side of Sherlock’s head. Sherlock immediately gave into the touch, casually prompting John so he would stroke his hair.

“Oh,“ John snickered, “who’d thought the ever so cool, intimidating detective Sherlock Holmes _loves_ having his hair petted.“ He buried his fingers into the midst of Sherlock’s dark curls, trifling with the thick strands of hairs.

“Stop making fun of me,“ Sherlock pouted but left out a pleased hum right afterwards, once John gently stroke the scalp of his head.

“I am _not_ making fun of you. Just one another proof that you are a human.“

“You still need a proof?“

“Not me,“ John shook his head. “But the gentlemen you’ve not so gently kicked out of the flat today-“

“Come _on_ , John,“ Sherlock fumed but didn’t even consider moving an inch, just in case John would stop playing with his hair. “Mycroft clearly hired those guards to poke fun at me. He simply _loves_ torturing me this way. Once he returned with them in the afternoon- God, John. I can’t even believe I’ve agreed on that one of them is going to stay. What is the purpose? Even if Mary _was_ so stupid to get close to Baker Street, he won’t protect us. She can easily kill him, John, just one another on her list,“ he waved his hand.

“You’ve seen him? He's _huge_ ,“ John chuckled. “And besides, he’s armed.“

“We are too, _both_ of us,“ Sherlock objected. “Argh, it was a mistake to put Mycroft in charge. Now he’s going to think that every word of his is sacred and every rule he makes we must obey.“

“Sherlock, what even is your problem?“ John asked, glancing down at him. “That guy will never set a foot upstairs, he’s going to stay down there so to protect us from anyone who would dare to enter the flat perforce. Don’t you feel safer knowing that Mary is not going to get to us so easily?“

“John, please,“ Sherlock rolled his eyes, quite reluctantly tilting his head up so he could look John in the face. “Weren’t you listening? Didn’t I tell you that this whole circus is ridic- _dull_?“ he hissed through gritted teeth. “And unnecessary.“

“It’s so you remain safe.“

“John!“ Sherlock growled furiously, springing up to sitting position. “Mary might have been Moriarty’s pet, but even if we take this fact into consideration, it still makes no sense why we should be locked up in our own flat like prisoners. Moriarty wanted me dead too, I am sure there are dozens of people out there who want me dead, yet _none_ of this charade had ever been needed. Mary would never-“

“Never what?“ John scowled, crossing his arms. “Didn’t you promise that you will never underestimate her again? Sherlock, look,“ John leaned forward, taking Sherlock’s face into his palms. “Mary is _threating_ you. We can assume that she wants to kill you, whatever it takes. She’s playing with you, fooling around and on top of that, she blames you for all bad that had happened to her. Isn’t this what you’ve said once?“

“Yeah,“ Sherlock mumbled, raising his hands to cover John’s. “The worst is that she blames me for that she lost _you_.“

“See? She’s got a personal motive now, a couple of ones in fact. And besides, she’s nothing like Moriarty or Magnussen, they had plans how to destroy innocent masses of people, through one way or another. They’ve tormented but they were never willing to get their own hands dirty with blood. Mary is far worse,“ John said in a broken voice, a voice that was filled with so much worry and even fear that Sherlock’s eyes welled up for a second.

“And that’s what makes her so dangerous, Sherlock,“ John added. “Remember what you’ve said? She wants to crush your heart and won’t stop until she achieves that or until someone stops _her_. Sherlock, listen, I’ve lost you so many times, I _refuse_ to let that happen ever again,“ he sniffed, pulling Sherlock closer so to leave a kiss over his lips. “I don’t care if any of this is bloody ridiculous or unnecessary. We don’t know what she’s up to, so better be prepared.“

“I guess- you’re not wrong,“ Sherlock sighed, closing his eyes. “But that doesn’t mean I am scared,“ he added with a raised finger. “I am just- For God’s sake-Mary is-“

“Shhh, it’s okay, now hush,“ John whispered, taking Sherlock into his arms. “I’d suggest not mentioning Mary’s name in this room ever again, okay? Especially not while we’re in bed.“

“But I-“ Sherlock was about to raise an objection but in the end he’d rather admit that what John proposed was actually a much better idea. “Fine, as you wish,“ he exhaled, leaning in for another kiss. “Just-just hold me, _please_ , John. Hold me and kiss me, love me and make me forget about her.“

“Then lie down, come on.“ While still holding Sherlock in his arms, John slouched down to the same position they lied in before, except for that he wasn’t leaning against the headboard anymore.

“I know you think that all these precautions we took are completely unnecessary,“ he piped up once they were comfortably cuddled in each other’s arms, “but we can actually profit from this situation.“

“How?“ Sherlock frowned. “What are the benefits of being imprisoned in your own flat?“

“What about the fact that there’ll be no one to disturb us?“ John pointed out with a suggestive smile. “Mrs Hudson had walked in on us _three_ times last week. And now… she’s not around anymore,“ he chuckled.

“We were just _kissing_ , John,“ Sherlock remarked. “And Mrs Hudson might not be around, but that big bulky bull with barely any neck is still downstairs, John and I don’t _trust_ him,“ he pouted, snuggling closer to John even though he was already lying half on top of him.

“I doubt that that bloke will show up in the sitting room tomorrow morning to bring you your favourite tea,“ John giggled, his fingers absently running up and down Sherlock’s bare back. He could feel how Sherlock shivered under such a subtle touch and so he couldn’t help but wonder if the man was ticklish. The idea of making Sherlock laugh so hard he would burst into the tears was quite tempting to try out, John had to admit, but he kept this notion for himself. At least until Sherlock was in a better mood.

“Don’t worry, it’s going to be alright,“ John assured him instead, planting a peck over his hair.

“Besides, another good news is that we will have plenty of time for ourselves, Sherlock. Now that you gave up on chasing… _that woman_ , there will be nothing to distract you from us and maybe we could finally-“

“Why do I have a feeling this is leading somewhere?“ Sherlock’s brows knitted in suspicion as he propped himself up on the elbow. “You want to ask me something, don’t you?“

John opened his mouth to deny but decided against it in the end. He had no idea how or why even he allowed himself to slip as such but the truth was that there was indeed something that had been bothering him for a long time, something he didn’t want to discuss with Sherlock just yet. Especially since it seemed to not be the right time yet and they had a myriad of other troubles to go through anyway. It was rather a surprise that Sherlock managed to deduce what was going on in John’s mind since John put an extra effort into not giving away too much.

“Y-yeah,“ he stammered, glaring at Sherlock from under his lashes. “But we don’t have to talk about it if you don’t feel like it,“ he added quickly. “You know, we’ve just-“

“Come on, ask John,“ Sherlock prompted him, a sudden spark of excitement twinkling in his eyes. “I don’t mind.“

“Are you sure?“ John wavered, nervously picking his nails. “It’s a delicate topic.“

Sherlock’s brow quirked in amusement. “As if there was a reason to hide anything in front of each other,“ he snorted. “Besides, I reckon we both are in need of a little change of subject, don’t you think?“

“Yeah, I guess you’re right,“ John gave in in the end, looking straight into Sherlock’s eyes with the most genuine adoration he was capable of showcasing.

“But please, Sherlock, don’t you think that I am pushing you into something or that I am being impatient or angry at you,“ John pleaded, trying to sound as apologetically for what he was about to ask as possible.

“What is that supposed to mean?“ Sherlock scowled.

“You know-“ John took a pause, so to steel himself. Whether it was an utterly bad idea that could partially ruin their relationship or not, he decided to not back pedal. “You remember how you said you want _all_ of what is a relationship supposed to offer?“ John asked in a half-whisper, his brow furrowed as if he was afraid of his own words. “Sherlock, look, I know that technically we’ve been a couple for just a very short period of time, but my point is that- can you imagine - in the future of course- having a-“

“ _Sex_ with you?“ Sherlock interjected, an unreadable expression on his face. There was a hint of a coquettish smirk upon his lips, brows tugged in a similarly flirtatious manner but there was a glimmer of insecurity in his eyes and redness building up high on his cheeks.

“Yeah, sex… that’s what I meant,“ John mumbled, avoiding the other man’s eyes. He felt immensely embarrassed suddenly, as if the two of them were never meant to talk about such intimacies.

“I am sorry, I shouldn’t have even asked, I am-“

“No, it’s okay,“ Sherlock assured him, leaning down so to shorten the gap between them. “I told you- I don’t mind. And yes, I was talking about sex, John, of course… obviously.“

“So you can imagine it?“ John hoped he didn’t sound too fretful since one of his last intentions was to startle Sherlock.

“Can I be honest?“ Sherlock bit his lip as if he felt guilty. “I am not sure in this very moment. I mean, I _do_ want to have sex with you but John… I don’t actually know how sex even… works.“ Sherlock was so red in his cheeks that he had to grab a pillow in order to hide his face.

“Wait, you mean that-that you are… a _virgin_?“ John sat up, his mouth hanging open in awe.

Sherlock quite reluctantly pulled the pillow down so he could speak. “Don’t tell me you’re surprised, John, I couldn’t have even kissed you properly at first.“ 

“I-I mean, no, I am not, not that much anyway,“ John shook his head, eyes pinned down upon the mattress. “I could’ve expected but when you put it into words like this…“

“John, I’ve never been in a serious relationship before,“ Sherlock said in rather a sad voice, raising up to mirror John’s position. “ _No_ relationship actually. _Never_. You know, each time I tried to ask someone out I was quiet rudely rejected. No one wanted to be with me, because I was... I _am_ different. I am sure there were dozens of women who’d want to get on with me, but who cares, I’ve always knew that I preferred boys over girls. But boys had never preferred _me_ cause I am a freak, am I not?“ Sherlock smiled sadly. “No one wanted to date me. And having sex with someone I didn’t know and trust… someone I didn’t _love_ , that had always been an unacceptable idea.“

“You are _not_ a freak,“ John sighed in response, immediately wrapping his arm around Sherlock’s waist to pull him closer and plant a kiss over the temple of his head. He kept his lips pressed against his skin even once Sherlock continued talking.

“I’ve simply lost the interest in… kissing, sex and dating,“ he shrugged in John’s arms, not even trying to argue with him. “Or at least I’ve willingly given up on these desires in order to concentrate on things that I thought were more important. Things I thought were more suited up for such a man like me. I started relaying solely on my brain, I rarely ever listened to my heart again. I thought I am not worthy, John and so I built walls around myself in order to not get-“

“Hurt?“

“ _Hurt_ ,“ Sherlock nodded, barely able to pronounce the word because of the knot in his throat. The room had been filled with a heavy silence for a couple of minutes before Sherlock was able to continue talking about himself in such an open way. What he’s just revealed were basically his most treasured secrets, something he thought he would never be able to share with anyone else. This side of him he had tried to keep hidden for years, not even in front of John he’d ever shown his softer self even though John was well aware of its existence, he knew there must be a warm open face hiding somewhere beneath that thick cold mask. He wasn’t wrong, yet whenever Sherlock uncovered this face he needed a little time to process what was happening. Sentiment wasn’t Sherlock’s cup of coffee after all.

“But now _you_ are here, John,“ Sherlock said after a while, glaring at the other man like he was the only source of light in the world. “And you had made me interested again, in fact you made me yearn for this kind of contact more than I’ve ever wanted it before,“ he said, leaning so close to John their lips brushed. “John, I couldn’t have even properly understood any of these things before I met you. You made me feel true love for the first time in my life and thanks to you I turned into this sentimental _mess_ as you can see, thanks to you I now comprehend what loving someone so wholeheartedly means.“

“Sherlock, I-“

“No, let me finish, John,“ Sherlock cut him off, folding a finger over his lips and then pecking the corner of his mouth. “ _Of course_ I want to be with you, in every way possible, John. I want to have sex with you, but still… despite everything I have just said now, at first I need a little more time to get prepared. I need time to accustom to this idea that it’s bound to happen for real... whether sooner or later. Look at me now,  am still full of insecurities, I can’t even get fully naked in front of you yet,“ Sherlock snorted, half-smiling into another kiss.

“No, no, no, it’s all okay, Sherlock.“ John couldn’t keep his eyes dry anymore, despite trying to convince himself how silly was to cry over such things. “You have all the time in the world. I didn’t mean to sound like I am persuading you into something you don’t want. I am sorry, love, I am sorry, I-hey, what’s wrong?“ John frowned once Sherlock’s face stiffened and his mouth fell open in an inaudible gasp.

“N-nothing, you just-you just called me _love_ ,“ Sherlock smiled softly.

“Oh- I didn’t realise, I am truly sorry, Sherlock, I-“

“Stop keep apologising,“ Sherlock nudged him, giggling quietly. “It’s fine,“ his nose crinkled as he pulled John into one another, this time deeper kiss.

“I will wait for as long as there’s a need, Sherlock,“ John said once breaking the kiss. “I asked just because I wasn’t entirely sure- with you I can never know,“ he tittered. “Yes, I admit that you’re driving me crazy and I often think about you in the way I am sincerely ashamed of-“

“Don’t be ashamed,“ Sherlock stroked his arm.

“No, I _should_ be,“ John insisted. “It was a stupid idea to ask you. I will never try that again, _you_ will tell me when you’re ready, okay? Up until then you’ll hear no word about it from me.“

“John, I understand that you must be frustrated,“ Sherlock said as bluntly as if he wasn’t even listening, still caressing John’s arm. “I am making you wait for something you had a lack of for how long? A year?“

“How would you-? How the hell did you deduce _that_?“ John frowned but Sherlock simply gave him that kind of a telling look that explained everything.

“Yeah, okay, fine,“ John nodded. “But don’t you think I am angry at you because of that, Sherlock. Your needs and comfort is what is much more important than the fact that I had been starving for sex with you for so long. I don’t care if it takes years till you gather enough confidence, I _will_ wait.“

“It won’t take _years_ , don’t worry,“ Sherlock laughed. “Give me a couple of more days, a week or two at most.“

“But that’s- are you- are you sure?“

“ _Sure_ ,“ Sherlock smirked, pulling John into another deep , messy kiss. “Until then-“ he licked his lip once drawing back, his cheeks still flushing. “You know, I hoped I’d provoke you to do the same thing you did in the morning. I _loved_ that,“ he purred, yet a shy smile on his face.

John snickered, his hands swiftly sliding up and down Sherlock’s bare chest. “You mean _this_?“ he leaned forward with a smirk, planting a sloppy kiss over Sherlock’s neck. He then proceeded to nip and suckle on his Adam’s apple, drawing deep rumbles from his throat in return.

“Yes, _that_ exactly,“ Sherlock breathed out, his head falling back so John had even a better access. The sensation of John’s lips, teeth and tongue against his skin was simply ecstatic. Sherlock was slowly losing his inhibitions, starting the moment when John moaned quietly and buried both his hands into Sherlock’s hair so he could get a grip of those locks. It was a gentle tug yet Sherlock groaned out loud, a sound so painfully hot, yet the only notion crossing John’s mind was if it didn’t hurt.

“Sherlock, God, I am sorry-“

“No, no, don’t be,“ Sherlock cut him, desperately crumpling the front of John’s shirt. “Don’t stop, don’t you dare to stop, John. Go on, I want… _more_.“

Sherlock couldn’t even believe the words he’s just said, in fact, he had no idea what even he was begging for since it clearly wasn’t the desire to be fucked. Not yet at least. He’d always managed to surpass the need to be kissed, to be taken and marked by John but this time and especially after years of concealing, he simply had no reason to hold back anymore. Not when being sure that John loved him wholeheartedly and he would have never done anything to hurt him or something Sherlock wouldn’t want. There were certain acts he wasn’t prepared for yet, but now he knew that even though John was ready to move much further, he was willing to wait just because Sherlock asked him.

“More?“ John pulled back from suckling on his neck once Sherlock pleaded once more. He had received no words as an answer but a feverish nod in agreement.

“Then pull off my shirt.“

“Your-your shirt?“ Sherlock blinked and swallowed then opened his mouth but asked no more questions. They slowed down all of a sudden, as if they weren’t even about to devour each other’s faces few moments earlier. John let Sherlock grip and strip off the cloth, chuckling shyly once Sherlock seemed like he forgot how to breathe as his eyes glided over John’s bare chest. Not that he’d never before seen John shirtless, but it happened just a few times and it was a short, barely a glimpse of moment. John used to be insecure about his body and whenever Sherlock accidentally seen him half-naked he’d rather quickly stormed out or kicked Sherlock out of the room but since they were now together there was naturally no reason. John didn’t even mind that they acted as teenagers who were experiencing this kind of contact for the very first time. He wanted to enjoy each moment with Sherlock, take it slowly so he could remember every second of them kissing and touching each other.

“You’re gorgeous,“ Sherlock gasped, stretching out his hand so he could brush John’s skin but then he wavered for a second. “May I?“ he asked softly. John offered no reply, he simply smiled and took Sherlock’s hand, allowing him to caress the star-shaped scar on his shoulder. Sherlock breathed shallowly as his fingertips tenderly brushed the jagged edges of John’s salmon pink coloured patch of skin. Then he let his fingers slide leisurely down, ghosting over the skin, eyes firmly locked on John’s as he brushed the more recently scarred spot.

“This one’s my fault,“ Sherlock’s voice quivered.

“No, it’s not,“ John shook his head, taking Sherlock’s hand again, pressing it against his lips so to plant tiny butterfly kisses over his knuckles. “For a hundredth time – it’s not your fault. Come here, kiss me.“ Sherlock didn’t quite agree with that statement but he gave in in the end, just because it was useless quarrelling over the same old stuff over and over again.

They had been kissing for a couple of long, blissful minutes before John slowly pushed Sherlock down on the mattress and lied on top of him, not even breaking their mouths apart. Each next kiss was delivered with more love and passion than the previous one, each was a proof of how deeply and unconditionally Sherlock and John loved each other.

John held Sherlock tight in his arms, lazily rubbing their bare chests together while Sherlock dipped his fingers into the skin of John’s back and carefully ran up to his nape then down his spine again, only so he would not leave a patch of skin untouched. Sherlock’s hands were so delicate, so soft and tender that John couldn’t help but smile against Sherlock’s lips. Sherlock maybe needed weeks to be taught how to kiss, but he sure knew how to use his hands, or at least how to make John hum pleasantly around his tongue.

“God, you’re so-“

“So what?“ Sherlock inhaled sharply once John freed his hand from underneath him and stroked his flushed cheek.

“Beautifully innocent, Sherlock,“ John breathed out.

“I am _anything_ but innocent, John, “ Sherlock snorted, lightly offended. “I hope you won’t treat me like a weakling from now on,“ he raised an eyebrow. “Just because I have gave you my entire heart and told you such intimate and embarrassing things? For your information, I am still the same nerve wrecking and obnoxious bastard like before, John,“ Sherlock smirked cheekily, pulling John down back into a little rough, hasty kiss to prove it but it all backfired the moment John took the lead again.

“You are a _liar_ , first and foremost,“ John growled against Sherlock’s lips, gifting him with a chaste peck. “But you’re lucky cause you’re also devilishly handsome,“ another peck, “the most beautiful,“ one more, “sexiest, hottest, smoothest, the most irresistible _bastard_ I’ve ever had a fortune of kissing,“ he sniggered.

Sherlock blushed. “That’s an awful lot of nice attributes for a one man, John,“ don’t you think?“ he purred, allowing John to suck on his neck again even though he was as red as a tomato in his face.

“Well, it’s hardly ma fault you’re so perfect for me,“ John shrugged. He toyed with the idea that’s just crossed his mind for a mere second before deciding that Sherlock was probably feeling tad better and so he would have nothing against what John was about to do.

So while leaning in for an open-mouthed kiss, John slyly reached behind Sherlock’s neck and tickled his nape just fairly, barely brushing, but with enough vehemence for Sherlock to notice.

“John, what the hell-“ whatever Sherlock was about to said dissolved into giggles once John repeated the same action.

“Oh, so you _are_ ticklish,“ John laughed, raising up to straddle Sherlock’s abdomen. “It’s just your neck or-of course, your arms too,“ he added with quite a malevolent smile once Sherlock grunted out loud.

“John, for God’s sake, this is a form of tor-torture,“ Sherlock guffawed, trying to wrestle with John’s hands but John was much stronger, he easily managed to beat him.

“Torture?“ John frowned but kept his fingers dancing lightly across Sherlock’s forearm.

“Y-yes,“ Sherlock panted, “in ancient China-form of-of punishment-“

“And why on Earth would you keep such an information stored in that bloody mind palace of yours?“ John chuckled, tapping a finger over Sherlock’s forehead before he crossed his arms over his chest, which however as it turned out five seconds later wasn’t actually a good idea. Once Sherlock caught another breath he quickly grabbed John by his waist and rolled them over so John was now stuck beneath him.

“This is _cheating_ , Sherlock.“

“Really, John, really?“ Sherlock lilted before pressing his lips against John’s. “So making me laugh so hard I can’t breathe, that’s not cheating?“

“No, that’s cause I want to see you happy,“ John said but wavered before leaning up for a kiss. “You didn’t mind, did you?“

“If I mind that you wanted to make me laugh?“ Sherlock’s eyebrow quirked upwards. “What kind of a question is that, John-“ he snickered derisively, locking their lips in a languid kiss.


End file.
